


Eris

by orphan_account



Category: Holy Trinity (YouTube RPF)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:23:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6231298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Eris

Looking back on it now, Hannah is certain that there was a time in her life when everything was okay. There was a time when she accepted who she was and she knew the type of person that she wanted to be. Though this period of time was short-lived and rough around the edges, she was okay, and that was all that mattered.

“Tell me again,” The girl wrapped up in Hannah’s arms giggles.

“I love you,” Hannah whispers into long, brown hair, “I love you.”

Helen sighs happily to herself and runs her fingers over her girlfriend’s hands, tracing mindless patterns, “Hey, Hannah?”

“Mhm?”

“Can you tell me about your childhood?” Helen asks the question as if she may not like the answer, “You know so much about what I was like when I was younger and I really don’t know anything about you.”

Hannah freezes up almost instantly. There are dark stories of her past that come rushing to her head, but she doesn’t dare share them with the girl in her arms. Helen knows Hannah as the happy, ambitious college student that prefers chopsticks to forks and tells one too many puns. She doesn’t know that the person wrapped around her body is a modified version of her old self – a person that was so terribly sad and self-loathing that Hannah doesn’t know if Helen would believe they were the same person.

“I guess I had a normal childhood,” Hannah lies, “Nice house, nice parents, two sisters. There’s really not much to tell.”

And as much as Hannah wants to share parts of herself that she’d never let anyone see, she’s afraid. Because for the first time in her life, she feels really, really happy. So instead of being honest, she lies away her fears and hopes that they’ll remain shut away in the darkness.

It’s only two weeks later that five simple words tear Hannah’s happiness to shreds.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Helen whispers, arms wrapped around herself tightly.

“You can’t do what anymore?”

“This,” Helen points to the space between her and Hannah, “You and I. I can’t do it anymore.”

Hannah’s eyes widen and she instinctively reaches out for the girl, “What are you talking about? We’re great together.”

“I’m not gay!” The words shoot out of Helen’s mouth like venom, “Maybe you are, but I’m not, Hannah. This was just a phase. You were just a phase.”

“You and I aren’t a phase,” Hannah seethes and the hand that she has wrapped around Helen’s wrist tightens as the words escape her, “I love you.”

“Yeah?” Helen’s lip quirk up slightly and a twinge of hope fills Hannah’s stomach, “Well I don’t love you. I don’t think I ever did.”

Helen rips her arm out of Hannah’s grasp and stares at the brunette expectantly. She waits for Hannah to say something that will make her change her mind and fall back into her arms, but all she hears is silence. The look that falls over Hannah’s face is one that Helen hadn’t seen before – it’s distant and cold and devastatingly emotionless.

She leaves Hannah’s dorm without another word.

And just as Hannah was a phase for Helen, happiness became a phase for Hannah. The joy that had filled her eyes for the past eight months fleeted as quickly as it arrived. First her heart ached, and then her mind ached, and then nothing ached at all. She feels herself become empty – painfully so.

Naomi is the first to notice.

“I’m worried about you,” Naomi comments as she pulls out of a hug with her younger sister.

“Me?” Hannah’s eyes widen as if the concept is foreign – as if she couldn’t believe that someone could be worried about her, “Why?”

“You were doing so well before, Hannah. You were so… happy. And now you’re slipping back into the same sadness and introversion that I thought you left behind. It’s almost like you’re worse than before.”

“I’m fine,” Hannah argues and takes the graduation cap off her head. It’s a bit sickening for her to see all of the recent graduates around her smiling and rambling on to their parents about their plans for the future. She wishes she could experience the same type of joy, “I’ve just been stressed with school, that’s all. Now that it’s over I’ll be better.”

“Promise?” Naomi’s eyes drip with concern.

No. “Promise.”

It’s the last time that Hannah speaks to her sister. Three days later, without telling a single soul, she packs her life into two suitcases and boards a plane to Japan.

Hannah spends her first month sulking and living in a broke-down apartment off the small amount of money she had saved up during college. It isn’t until her electricity turns off and her food spoils that Hannah realizes she needs to start making an effort in building a life for herself. She gets a job as a Japanese-to-English translator at a large multinational company, she finds herself an apartment that isn’t a complete wreck, and she drowns herself in the books that she’s always wanted to read but never got around to.

But things don’t get better. Although Hannah didn’t expect herself to heal overnight, she thought she would be making some sort of progress. Instead she slowly deteriorates, slipping into a life of mindless routine. Wake up, go to work, read, go to sleep. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

She considers going back home but she realizes, slowly, that she has no home to go back to. When she stopped picking up her phone, Naomi stopped calling. She hadn’t even bothered to respond to Maggie’s two-page email (typed out in caps lock) about how much she hates her for leaving. Sometimes, before she falls asleep, Hannah thinks about Maggie’s closing line – “YOU WERE ALL I HAD.” The truth is, Hannah’s had a response to her younger sister sitting in her drafts for nearly a year now.

Maggie,

I hate myself, too.

x Hannah

She doesn’t send it because no child should have to know these kinds of things about the people they care about. When Maggie thinks of her sister, she should think of warmth and love, not anguish and despair. On a deeper level, Hannah doesn’t send the email because she’s afraid. Afraid that her feelings of nothingness are contagious and if Maggie truly knew what she was going through, maybe she would catch her disease. Maybe Maggie would grow empty, too.

The worst part of it all is that Hannah doesn’t even miss her sisters. If anything, it’s the opposite. When she looks at the faces she grew up around she’s reminded of a time before all of this – a time when she felt more lost and confused than she did weak. It may have been a better time (because hey, at least she felt something), but it’s not a time she wants to relive. She wants her history to burn away so viciously that she won’t even be able to recognize it through the flames.

Instead of dwelling on the past (or the present), Hannah puts all of her energy into her work. It’s not exciting or stimulating, but it helps to keep her mind off of things.

“Mr. Hobbs?” Hannah asks cautiously, peering into the office of her boss. The man twists around in his desk chair and motions for the woman to enter.

“I told you before, call me Ellis,” He grunts, pushing a few papers off his desk, “Sorry my office is such a mess, but this campaign is driving me crazy.”

Hannah glances over at the easel set up beside Ellis’ desk and frowns, “Do you mind if I give you my opinion on it?”

“The campaign?” Ellis glances over at his easel that’s covered in mock-ups of advertisements, “Well, shit. Go ahead, Hart. The amount of work you’ve gotten done in these past few months has been outstanding. You’re a pro at this, kid. Masubi is lucky to have you.”

Hannah blushes slightly and nods, “I guess I just really like this job. Anyway, for the campaign, it looks a little bit… western.”

“Western?” Ellis adjusts his glasses.

“Well, yeah. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great campaign, but not for Japan. I’m sure it would bring in tons of business if we had it up in LA or New York, but advertising is different here. People want to see different types of things when they look up at a billboard.”

“I should’ve never brought that art director in from Wisconsin,” Ellis grumbles and rubs at his temples.

“Well, to be fair, I think the main issue is that 90% of this place is run by executives that are used to working in the U.S.”

Ellis narrows his eyes for a moment before shrugging in surrender, “Tell you what, Hart – if you can come up with something as an alternative to these ads, I’ll let you take control of this project.”

Hannah’s eyes widen instantly, “What? Me? Sir, that’s… that’s really generous of you, but I have degrees in Japanese and English Lit. I took a marketing class in my sophomore year, but that’s really all the experience I have. I am nowhere near qualified enough to handle this type of project.”

“I believe in you, Hart. You’re an exceptional worker and I don’t doubt that you can come up with something for this,” Ellis smiles, “And besides, it’ll make my job a hell of a lot easier if I can finally forget about this fucking Masubi campaign.”

After a few more words of encouragement from her boss, Hannah obliges. She spends the next three weeks coming up with ideas and making extensive phone calls to sponsors and design firms. When her work is done, Hannah stands in front of a room full of her superiors with trembling hands. For an hour and a half, Hannah tries her best to convince to the room that her idea isn’t completely terrible. Her PowerPoint presentation starts with mock-ups of advertisements and ends with statistics gauging public response.

When she’s finished, there’s nothing but silence. And then there’s an eruption of applause.

“Yes!” Ellis exclaims, standing from his chair, “I have a good feeling about this, Hart.”

“You like it?” Hannah’s eyes widen in shock.

“Like it? I love it. Your work is inspired. Christ, I haven’t seen Mike put this much effort into an ad campaign in the nine years he’s been here,” Ellis laughs, ignoring the fact that Mike is standing directly behind him and frowning.

“So you’re going to run my ads?” Hannah swallows nervously; a part of her still convinced that this isn’t really happening.

“We’re going to run your ads, kid.”

It’s a good choice, in retrospect, because in two months time, the phone is ringing off the hook. When money starts pouring in, Ellis gives Hannah a raise and a promotion to a position that’s a bit more corporate, as he put it. “Enough with that translating bullshit,” Ellis had said, “You’re ready to play in the big leagues, kid.”

Hannah accepts the job as soon as Ellis slides a Post-it note over to her with her starting salary.

“I started a bank account for Maggie,” Hannah says into her end of the phone, “It’s… it’s sort of a college fund. Right now there’s only a few thousand bucks in it, but I’m working on getting more.”

Hannah can hear Maggie’s mother sigh over the line, “Hannah, you don’t have to. She just wants to talk to you again, the money really isn’t necessary –”

“It is,” Hannah interrupts, “I… I have to do this. But can you promise me something?”

“Of course, Hannah. Anything.”

“Don’t tell her I’m doing this. It would just complicate things even more.”

There’s a beat of silence before Maggie’s mother responds, “I promise.”

Hannah’s promotion has a number of other perks other than being able to give her sister the education that she deserves. Though her new career doesn’t make her happier, it makes her feel powerful. In control. To celebrate, she goes out to a bar with a co-worker and for the first time in a long time, she feels like going home with someone.

There’s a girl at the end of the bar that seems like her type, but as soon as the thought strikes her, she feels a familiar twinge of guilt fill the pit of her stomach. Instead, she turns to the man that had been hitting on her for nearly an hour and tells him to take her back to his place.

Later that night, when he’s hovering over her and mumbling things like, “is that good, babe?” and “do you like it when I fuck you like this?” Hannah wishes she could say yes. She wishes that her automatic reaction were to pull him in closer and tell him how amazing he feels inside of her. She wishes that her stomach didn’t clench in disgust every time his chest rubbed against her own.

With each thrust and guttural groan that comes from the man above her, Hannah repeats a similar string of words in her head: You like this, Hannah. This makes you feel good. You’re normal.

In the morning, Hannah quietly collects her things and sneaks out of the man’s apartment before he can wake. And so this becomes her life. Her job changes from one of mundane repetition to one of creativity and excitement. She no longer spends her nights alone in her bed with a book, but in the bed of a man she barely knows. But still, Hannah doesn’t grow happier. In fact, she could make a pretty compelling argument that her life has, in fact, gotten worse. Despite this, she still clings onto the idea that one day something big will happen and she’ll snap out of her tired routine. She’s not sure if that something will be a knock on her door or an internal revelation or something else entirely, but Hannah can’t shake the feeling that things are going to get better.

“Can I talk to you for a moment, Hart?” Ellis sticks his head out of his office, managing to catch Hannah just as she walks in.

Hannah grins and follows the grey-haired man through his door, “What’s this about?”

“You’re going to New York,” Ellis jumps straight to the point, folding his arms and leaning back on his desk.

Hannah’s face drops almost instantly, “What?”

“Got a call this morning from the VP over at Masubi’s NYC division. They’ve seen the work you’ve been doing lately and they want you on their team,” Ellis shrugs, “Tried talking them out of it, but they were dead set.”

“I… I can’t go to New York,” Hannah shakes her head definitively, “My life is here now, Ellis.”

“And I tried to tell them that, but you know how these mainland corporate guys can be. If they want something, they get it. You know I’d have you over here working with me if I had the choice.”

“You don’t understand, I left the states for a reason… I… I…”

“Hannah,” Ellis speaks in a tone softer than his usual one, “This isn’t the end of the world. They’ll be paying you more than double the amount you’re getting now, they’ll set you up with an apartment in the city, and you’ll be given as much time as you need to settle in. You’ll be well taken care of over there, believe me. I wouldn’t have let them do this otherwise.”

Hannah shuts her eyes and takes a moment to collect her thoughts. She hadn’t considered, not for a second, that she’d ever go back to the place that had brought her so much pain. Even though New York and California are on opposite ends of the country, it still feels too close for comfort.

But she would be lying if she said that she was truly happy in Japan – though she loves it more than she’ll ever love the states, it still hasn’t made her happy. Nothing has, really.

“Hannah? You still there?” Ellis waves a hand in front of the brunette’s face. When Hannah snaps out of her daydream and gives her attention back to her boss, he continues, “So? You gonna go?”

No. No, no, no. Don’t do this, Hannah. It’ll be a terrible decision and you know it.

“When do I leave?”

 

She’s been in New York for three months now, and it’s cold. The weather is cold, the people are cold and Hannah’s starting to feel like she’s never going to thaw out. She misses Japan, misses her tiny apartment, misses the market she used to visit every Saturday. Her new place is beautiful, but in a very impersonal way. She feels too much like an intruder to make her mark on the pristine white walls, even though she’s earning enough these days to buy out an entire art gallery, if she wanted.

She’s the head of a team of 9 people and almost every one of them is at least 5 years older than her. They all have way more experience and she feels vastly out of her depth most days, even though her superiors have nothing but praise for her work. More than once she’s been called upon to help close deals, since apparently she comes across as trustworthy to clients, and she’s slowly gaining a reputation as someone to watch. “The fast track” is a phrase she’s hearing a lot these days. The best thing about that, as far as she can tell, is that now 12 hour workdays are the rule rather than the exception. It’s hard to feel guilty about not telling her sisters she’s back in the states when she barely has time to buy toilet paper, never mind pick up the phone.

Her team has just closed another successful bid, and as they celebrate Hannah smiles tiredly and grabs her jacket, already thinking longingly about her enormous bathtub. She’s halfway to the elevators when one of her team, an older guy called Mark, calls out her.

“Hey, Hannah! We’re going out to celebrate, you coming?”

“No thanks,” she says, “I’m heading home.”

“Come on, boss,” he cajoles, “there’s this girl at Bar None that makes the best Bloody Mary you’ll ever taste in your life. My treat!”

He smiles at her flirtatiously and Hannah automatically fights down the distaste that rises in her. She’s normal now, so she smiles back even as she shakes her head. 

“Rain check,” she says, and steps in the elevator before he can protest further.

Her promotion came with a car and driver, but sitting in traffic gave her way too much time to think, so now she takes the subway every day and lets the noise and the crowds drown out the quiet voice in her mind that reminds her of just how lonely she is. It’s late enough that she stands out in the crowd of people clearly on their way to a night out. Her business suit feels uncomfortably formal and she stands in the corner of the subway car and tries to think herself invisible. Finally, she reaches her stop and emerges into the cold night air. She walks briskly, cursing herself for forgetting her jacket, until finally she reaches her building. The doorman on duty (and what the hell kind of life is she living now; where someone is waiting literally 24/7 just to open the door for her?) smiles and tips his hat as she enters and she hums quietly to herself as the elevator carries her to her floor.

Silence has become the enemy since she moved back stateside. Silence means thinking, and thinking means guilt, so she fills her apartment with radios and talking books and never goes anywhere without headphones, except on days like today when she stupidly leaves her jacket at home. She enters her apartment and drops her briefcase carelessly by the door, pulling her suit off and leaving pieces in her wake as she heads for the bathroom. She picks up a remote from the coffee table as she passes and soon the apartment is filled with the sound of the news being read in Japanese. She’s determined not to lose the language she worked so hard to learn, despite the fact that it looks more than likely her translating days are gone for good.

She walks naked into the bathroom and starts filling the tub, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. She climbs in and sighs as the hot water slowly eases the tenseness she seems to carry constantly. The radio is talking about Masubi’s recent rise up the Nikkei index and Hannah allows herself a moment of genuine satisfaction at the fact that she helped make that happen. She’s ashamed of a lot about her life these days, but her career is something she’s actually proud of.

She stays in the tub until her eyes start drifting closed and then hauls herself out, towels off as she trudges into the master bedroom and climbs naked into her enormous bed. She hates this bed. It’s the very height of luxury, a king-sized behemoth with 1500 thread count sheets and cashmere blankets, but Hannah is always deeply aware of just how much empty space there is around her. Most nights, she sleeps in the spare bedroom with it’s smaller double, but tonight she’s just too exhausted to walk the extra 15 feet.

Her alarm wakes her at five as usual, and she runs through her morning workout on autopilot before showering and dressing, ignoring the dirty clothes still strewn across the floor from last night. She heads for the subway, wishing the doorman good morning, and listens to half a chapter of an audiobook as she travels to her favourite cafe; a tiny, unpretentious hole-in-the-wall two blocks from her office. It’s Friday, so she allows herself a completely unhealthy breakfast of bacon and pancakes and a boatload of coffee. The office is quiet when she arrives, unsurprising as it’s barely 7 am, and she spends an hour ploughing through emails and planning how to break down their next assignment. As 8 o’clock rolls around, her team start trickling in, all of them looking the worse for wear.

“Hey boss,” says a voice, and Hannah looks up to see Pearl waving half-heartedly at her. As well as being the only other woman on the team, she’s also the closest to Hannah age-wise, so if she were ever to make a friend here, it would be Pearl.

“Hey,” she replies, “did you guys have fun last night?”

“Yeah,” Pearl grins, “we missed you!”

Hannah smiles apologetically and goes back to her work. She gives her team another hour to get settled and caffeinated before calling a meeting to brief them on the new assignment.

“When did we get this?” Mark asks.

“This morning,” she responds.

“Jesus, Hannah, you’re like a machine!” He exclaims, looking at the thick info pack Hannah has put together. She shrugs.

“Apparently these guys are hard to impress,” she tells them, “so we need to be at the top of our game. If we land this one, the powers that be are going to be very grateful around bonus time.”

That gets her a few tired grins. She explains her plan and divides the team up into their respective groups. Her job is to schmooze the potential clients when they get into New York in a few weeks’ time and she sets Pearl and Mark on the task of background research to find out what they like.

The day passes slowly. Her team isn’t working particularly hard, but Hannah thinks that’s probably a good thing. They normally get a day or two between projects to recover, and since the potential clients don’t get into town for a couple of weeks, there’s no real urgency yet. She lets them gossip and orders Thai food for everyone at lunch, accepting their thanks with a smile. 

Around six, she tells them to call it quits for the day. They don’t all immediately run for the door; instead most stay to chat for a few minutes, and Hannah smiles. She’s slowly starting to feel like they respect her, like maybe she really did earn this position. One by one, they file out until only Mark and Pearl are left.

“Hey boss, thanks for lunch!” Pearl says cheerfully. “I’m craving some tapas, do you want to come and have dinner with us?”

“No thanks,” Hannah says automatically, then jumps as Mark nudges her.

“Come on, Hannah,” he says persuasively, “you deserve a night off!”

He’s smiling at her again in that way that makes her stomach flip, and she tells herself again that it’s attraction she’s feeling. Her mind flickers briefly to Helen, to those few months where she was confused. She shakes her head briefly and smiles back at Mark.

“Why not?”

The food is good and the wine is cheap, and Pearl is funnier than Hannah would have suspected, given how professional she is at the office. Mark flirts unashamedly with her and she sees him share a conspiratorial grin with Pearl as their waiter clears the table for dessert. She’s being set up. Ordinarily, she’d tell them to cut it out, but she can’t get Helen out of her head tonight, so she orders another bottle of wine and smiles back at Mark and ignores the unease in the pit of her stomach. 

After dinner, Pearl says goodnight and gives Hannah an encouraging smile as she leaves.

“Do you want to grab a drink?” Mark asks her as Pearl’s taxi pulls away. “My place is only a couple of minutes away.” He smiles at her seductively.

“Sure,” Hannah says, accepting his unspoken invitation with a quick nod. 

Mark is a good kisser. He doesn’t press her back into the couch, or try to grope her, and he’s not trying to lick her tonsils like some guys do. His hand is resting lightly on her knee and stroking gently, and after a few minutes his other hand touches her elbow, equally gentle. Hannah leans closer to him, hoping he’ll take the hint and get on with it.

He does. His hands wander further and Hannah’s heart starts to beat faster. A few minutes pass and her shirt is on the floor, next to Mark’s. He’s taking his time, unlike most of the guys she’s slept with. Normally it goes by in a frantic blur, but Mark seems to want to take things slow. He kisses her collarbone and his skin is prickly with 5 o’clock shadow. She shudders, and tells herself firmly that it’s from arousal.

Mark glances up at her. He frowns and sits up.

“What?” Hannah asks.

Mark shakes his head, grabs her top off the floor and hands it to her. Hannah takes it, confused, as he pulls his own shirt back on.

“Mark, what?” Hannah asks again.

“You looked miserable, Hannah. If you didn’t want to do this, why not say so?”

“I did. I do!”

He shakes his head again.

“You can’t lie for shit, boss. You’re about three seconds from bolting. What’s going on?”

“Mark, I’m fine!” Hannah insists, leaning forward to kiss him. He stands up and steps away.

“Why are you doing this?” He asks her, and the sympathy in his eyes turns her stomach.

“Because I’m normal!” She spits, and immediately regrets it.

There’s a long moment of silence. Mark watches her, as though considering his words carefully. He takes a deep breath before he speaks.

“What was her name?”

Hannah stares at him blankly for a moment before her defences kick in.

“I’m not gay,” she says flatly. Mark smiles at her kindly.

“I’m not gay! Homosexuality is a sin.” Hannah insists.

“Okay. Aren’t you supposed to confess sins?” He asks lightly.

She stares at him again. Finally, she hauls her shirt on and grabs her briefcase.

“Hannah,” Mark says, pulling a card from his wallet as she fumbles with her shoes, “you don’t have to talk to me about this. But if you do want to deal with it, call this number.”

Hannah snatches the card and crams it in her pocket as she storms out, thoroughly humiliated. She mutters furiously to herself the whole way home and when she gets back to her apartment she throws herself into the shower, determined to scrub the last hints of Mark’s ridiculous accusations from her skin. 

Her skin is pink and tender when she finally emerges. Her clothes are scattered around the room and she collects them up and tosses them in the hamper.

A small cardboard rectangle flutters down from her pants pocket and hits the ground. Hannah leans over and picks it up, reading the cryptic contents.

ERIS  
843-555-7846

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 3

Hannah doesn’t call the number on the business card for a week. For seven long days she toys with the thin piece of cardboard between her fingers and tries to figure out what it might mean. She’s desperate to know. Hannah types the word ‘ERIS’ into Google and when nothing shows up, she types in the phone number. She knew it was a long shot, but she had hoped that something more than endless pages of irrelevant phone directories would come up.

The thing is, Hannah knows that figuring out who the number belongs to is as simple as dialing it into her phone. But as curious as she is, she’s also terrified. Because if Mark really does think that she’s gay, who knows what could be waiting for her on the other end of the line? She immediately thinks of But I’m a Cheerleader and imagines herself being sent to gay-away camp at the hands of fucking Mark.

But that wouldn’t make much sense, would it? Mark wouldn’t carry around business cards for mysterious heterosexual conversion programs, would he? No, he probably wouldn’t.

Eventually, after Hannah has stared at the word ‘ERIS’ for so long that it loses all meaning and starts to feel like a mismatched jumble of letters, she decides that she’s being ridiculous. She should just call. Before she can tell herself not to, she punches the numbers into her phone.

It rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

“Hello?”

The voice is low and husky, but Hannah can tell that it’s female.

“Is this, ah…” Hannah doesn’t know what to say. How do talk to a person when you have no idea who they are, “Is this Eris?” Hannah assumes that it’s the company name of whomever this woman works for.

“Sure is. Are you a new caller?”

“I don’t know. I mean… I guess? A co-worker gave me your card but he didn’t tell me who you are or what you do.”

“Who’s your co-worker?”

“Mark.”

“Mark Ashley? He gave you my number?”

“Yeah…” Hannah says nervously, suddenly feeling like a child answering to their teacher, “Is that strange?”

“It’s just that he’s never done that before, is all,” The girl responds, “So do you want to set up a meeting then?”

“A… meeting? Is this somehow related to Masubi? Because if it is, I’m going to need a little bit more information about what you can do for our company before –”

“You really have no idea what I do, do you?” The woman laughs in a way that shockingly isn’t condescending at all – amused would be a better adjective to describe it.

Hannah furrows her brow before muttering a simple, “No.”

“I’m an escort. As in, I’ll give you a time and place and you show up there with, let’s say four thousand bucks, and we can have some fun.”

Hannah’s eyes widen as the word sinks in. Escort. She’d only ever heard the term used in films or on television – never in real life. She’s used to it coming off the lips of old, rich men as they call up women in elegant, black ball gowns and let their hands slide up their thighs during limo rides. When she thinks of the word, she doesn’t think of a guy like Mark Ashley meeting a woman in some dimly lit hotel room.

“You still there?”

“Yeah,” Hannah exhales though she doesn’t know why she says it. She should have hung up as soon as the woman revealed her chosen career.

“So back to my original question… want to set up a meeting?”

“No,” Hannah immediately recoils, “No, I… I don’t.”

“Hm, is that so? Because usually when someone doesn’t want to fuck me, they hang up and move on. Yet here you are, breathing heavily down your line. So I’ll ask you again… do you want to set up a meeting?”

Hannah figures that now is as good a time as any to put the phone down. She imagines herself doing it – she’d press the end button, toss her phone to her living room table, and then set about making herself dinner for the evening. It would be that easy to forget about all of this. But she doesn’t do any of that, because as soon as the idea crosses her mind, another idea takes its place. She imagines the woman (in her head she has black hair) sprawled across the silk sheets of a hotel bed, writhing beneath her.

“I’m…” Hannah takes a deep breath, trying to let logic back in, “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’m not gay.”

There’s a silence on the other end of the line for a few beats.

“Huh,” The woman finally comments, speaking more to herself than to Hannah, “So that’s what this is about, then. I didn’t know Mark was so charitable.”

“What?”

“Not important. Look, I’m going to ask you one more time and then I’ll leave you alone. Do you want to set up a meeting?”

Hannah’s about to say no – the words are literally dripping from her tongue. But as her lips begin to curl around the letters, she thinks of Helen. And for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t think about all of the bad. She thinks about the good - about the way that Helen used to laugh after she came and she would press a kiss to the crinkling corners of her mouth. She thinks about how sex with a man – any man – has been painful and dreadful when compared to how absolutely mind blowing it was with Helen. She thinks about looking into Helen’s eyes when they were together and how that small act meant more than anything ever did with a male.

So before Hannah can say no, she says, “Yes.”

“Good. I’ll see you at nine on Monday night at the Sheraton. Suite 617.”

“I have a meeting on Monday night,” Hannah frowns.

“Well, now you have a new one. And really, which one would you rather be at?” The woman questions and Hannah thinks that she’s far too good at her job.

“Alright,” Hannah says softly, “I’ll see you on Monday. But… can I ask you one thing before you hang up?”

“Maybe.”

“What’s your name?”

The woman takes a moment to respond and when she does, there’s a note of laughter on her tongue, “I thought you already knew that. My name is Eris.”

“Is that your real name?” Hannah’s not sure why she asks because she’s fairly certain that it’s not, but she asks anyway.

“Sometimes,” The woman says distantly.

“Oh,” Hannah scratches at the back of her neck, suddenly unsure of what to say. Are you even supposed to have conversations with your escort? “I’m Hannah.”

“Is that your real name?” The woman responds almost immediately and Hannah imagines that she’s smiling proudly to herself.

“Yeah,” Hannah admits.

“Okay then. I’ll see you soon, Hannah.”

The line clicks off before Hannah can come up with another topic to keep the conversation alive. Even though the dial tone kicks in and the woman on the other end of the phone is long gone, Hannah still whispers, “See you soon.”

The next two days move at a glacial pace. On Sunday, Hannah stays in bed until one in the afternoon instead of going to the gym and doing her weekend shopping. When she finally does wake up, she bypasses the shower and goes straight to her kitchen, eating a Pop-Tart from a box that she had shoved in the back of her cupboard months ago. Hannah goes back to bed once she’s eaten, not even stopping by her office to respond to work emails. And it’s not that she’s sad, per se, it’s just that she has a lot to think about. A lot of Eris-related things to think about.

On Monday morning, Hannah skips breakfast at her usual café and instead settles for a granola bar from the vending machine at Masubi. During lunch, when Mark slides into Hannah’s office and asks, “Did you call Eris?” Hannah lies and says that she didn’t and she has no intention of doing so.I

At five, Hannah calls in her assistant and asks her to cancel her 8PM meeting.

“Are you sure?” Sarah questions, raising an eyebrow, “We’ve had this lined up for weeks now.”

“Just cancel it,” Hannah snaps and Sarah complies, not questioning her boss any further.

At eight, Hannah collects her things and quietly heads out of Masubi’s offices.

At eight forty-five, she’s standing in front of Suite 617 at the Sheraton with shaking palms. She knocks before her legs can betray her and sprint towards the elevators.

The door swings open and Hannah’s mind stops racing.

“You must be Hannah.”

The woman isn’t what she imagined. She’s tall – probably four or five inches more so than Hannah. Her hair is long and dark blonde and curled into light waves, hanging over her shoulders. Her eyes are brown and endlessly deep.

And she’s beautiful. Above all else, she’s beautiful.

“You are Hannah, right?”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m Hannah,” Hannah extends her hand out towards the blonde.

Eris directs her gaze down to the palm presented in front of her and rolls her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. She grabs Hannah’s hand and tugs her into the room, shutting the door swiftly behind her. There’s something about the way that the taller woman moves that’s effortlessly controlled. Graceful. Hannah had never seen someone move with such fluidity before – she considers asking Eris if she’s a dancer, but then decides against it. Do escorts even have hobbies outside of their job? She’d have to look into that later.

“So, Hannah,” The word sounds a bit like velvet coming off of the woman’s tongue, “What are you into?”

“Into?” Hannah tilts her head to the side.

Eris takes a step forward and Hannah feels a bit like her personal space is being invaded in the best possible way.

“Y’know,” Eris slides a hand up the back of Hannah’s neck and tangles her fingers in short hairs, “How do you want me to touch you?”

Hannah shudders as she feels lips press to her neck and she drops her brief case to the floor, letting it fall where it may.

“Everywhere,” Hannah lets her eyes fall shut as unfamiliar hands reach for the buttons on her pants.

“I can do that,” Eris whispers and Hannah can feel her smile against her neck.

Before Hannah can process what’s happening, long arms are leading her towards the bed and then there’s shuffling and when she looks up, Eris is above her, her robe discarded and clad in nothing more than a lace, red lingerie set. 

“You’re beautiful,” Hannah says before she can think it through.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Eris smirks as she runs a hand down Hannah’s stomach, slowly moving it down towards the button on her pants.

Hannah feels brave – invincible, even. Even though she’s not in charge of the situation by any means, she still feels powerful.

She’s not sure when she stops feeling this way. It’s all a blur, really. All Hannah knows is that somewhere between fingers sliding under the waistband of her pants and lips biting at her collarbone, everything stops being good. Everything becomes dark.

“Stop,” Hannah manages to whisper out, pushing Eris up and away from her body with unsteady hands.

“Are you alright?” The woman asks with wide eyes, her hands immediately recoiling from Hannah’s body.

Hannah nods weakly, “I’m fine, it’s just… I’ve never…”

“You’re not a virgin, are you, Hannah?” Eris jokes, biting her lip and slowly lowering herself back down towards the other girl. When Hannah shakes her head to the question, Eris presses on, “Am I your first lesbian experience, then?”

“I’m not a lesbian!” The words viciously fall off of Hannah’s tongue before she can stop them. Her eyes fill with rage and she immediately flinches away from Eris’s touch as if it’s ice cold against her skin.

Eris sits in shock for a moment, knees curled under her weight and her eyes full of an emotion that Hannah can’t quite decipher. Hannah’s not sure if she wants to decipher it. She quietly diverts her gaze from Eris’s own and stares in shame down at her palms.

“Do you, uh…” Eris cautiously speaks up, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Hannah,” Eris’s voice is warm and caring and something about it makes Hannah want to tell her what’s been on her mind for the past twenty-something years.

“I’m…” Hannah’s chest aches at the thought of saying it out loud, “I’m not… I’m not attracted to men, I don’t think.”

“But you’re attracted to women?”

Hannah cringes at the idea but doesn’t dispute it. Instead, she shifts her eyes away and shrugs lightly.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Hannah,” Eris slowly reaches out her hand and rests it on Hannah’s own. When the smaller girl doesn’t move away, she rubs a thumb across cold skin, “It’s perfectly normal.”

Normal. There are a lot of words that Hannah could describe herself with, but normal isn’t one of them. Nothing about her is normal.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to,” Eris continues when she grows tired of Hannah’s silence, “We can just talk. Free of charge.”

Hannah raises an eyebrow, “You’d do that? You’d throw away a paying gig just to talk?”

Eris shrugs, “Not usually, but… I don’t know. I like you. You seem interesting. And I really do want to listen to whatever it is that’s tearing you up inside. If you’d let me, that is.”

“It’s a long story,” Hannah mumbles and pulls her knees to her chest.

“This is the only place I need to be tonight,” Eris grins and sprawls across the edge of the bed.

Hannah mimics the position and lies down beside the woman. For being in her mid-twenties, something about the situation makes her feel like a teenager at a sleepover. She considers denying Eris’s request to share her story and leaving right then and there, but she doesn’t. Because more than that, Hannah’s tired. She’s tired of lying and keeping things locked away inside of her. She wants to let someone in. She’s desperate for the feeling.

And so she tells the woman everything. She starts from when she was a child, alone and confused and out of place. And then she moves onto her college years and she talks about Helen, not sparing a single detail. Eris doesn’t say much except for an occasional question of clarification, but it’s nice. Sometimes, when Hannah’s voice starts to crack and her eyes become red, Eris will reach out and squeeze her hand and tell her to take her time.

Hannah doesn’t remember when she falls asleep, but she wakes up the next morning alone and tucked under the covers of the hotel bed. Hannah glances over at the analog clock on the nightstand and mutters a faint “shit” to herself at the time. As she sits up, she notices a small note laying where Eris was sprawled out the night before.

Hannah,

Last night was nice.  
Call me if you want to meet up again.  
You have my number.

\- Eris

And although she’s more than two hours late for work, Hannah smiles to herself. The weight that had settled at the bottom of her stomach over the past few years had seemed to reduce in size as she slept.

Hannah feels good. She feels happy.

She feels normal.

\-------  
Hannah’s good mood lasts all day and even Mark’s knowing smile doesn’t put her off. When she comes home after work she pulls Eris’ business card from her wallet and drops it into a drawer in her desk. She thinks about last night, about pouring her heart out to a stranger. It was quite possibly the strangest experience of her life, but for the first time since Helen left her, she felt seen, understood, real.  
The next morning, she gets halfway to work before she realises she’s forgotten her headphones again, but somehow the silence doesn’t seem so intimidating any more. She lets her thoughts wander idly and glances around the subway car, vaguely recognising other regular commuters. One, a tall woman in a business suit, meets her gaze and smiles, and the slight flutter Hannah feels in response isn’t terrifying the way it would have been a few days ago.  
Almost a week passes and Hannah feels like she’s coming out of hibernation, somehow. She buys a beautiful painting of a cherry blossom tree in bloom and hangs it in the master bedroom, and suddenly the giant bed seems more inviting than intimidating. She visits a flea market at the weekend and picks up a couple of throws and a bonsai tree, and slowly her apartment starts to feels more like a home than a hotel room.  
Another week passes and as her team is leaving for their usual end-of-the-week drinks, Pearl calls out to her.  
“You want to come, boss?”  
It’s been a standing invitation for weeks and Hannah has always declined, but this time she pauses for a moment before answering.  
“Sure,” she says.  
Pearl looks at her in surprise, before smiling.  
“Great!” She says.  
They go to Bar None and Mark promises to introduce her to the head bartender, but it’s her night off. Hannah likes this place, it’s classy without being pretentious and she makes a note to follow up on the idea of bringing their clients here when they arrive next week. She pays for everyone’s drinks, and before long they’re laughing and joking easily with her.  
Somewhere around her third cocktail, someone floats the idea of karaoke and is immediately shot down, but by the sixth drink the idea comes back and somehow, Hannah finds herself in another bar, watching Mark and his assistant James duet on Born In The USA and laughing herself silly. When Pearl drags her onto the stage she protests, but the opening strains of Man, I Feel Like a Woman hit her ears and before she knows it, she’s belting out the song at the top of her lungs as her team whoop and cheer her on.  
They call it a night around 1am, and Hannah takes a taxi back to her apartment, still humming Shania Twain quietly to herself. The taxi pulls up to her building and she climbs out, waving happily to the doorman. He chuckles and walks her to the elevator, and she leans heavily against the wall as it carries her to her floor.  
“You’re a lightweight, Harto,” she tells herself, using the nickname she picked up in Japan.  
It takes three attempts to get her key in the lock, but soon enough she’s kicking off her shoes and flinging her jacket across the room. She wrestles the rest of her clothes off and heads for the bedroom when a thought strikes her. She goes to the office and rummages in her desk until she finds Eris’ card.  
She looks at it for a long while, swaying slightly.  
“Fuck it,” she says finally, and grabs the phone from her desk.  
It rings three times.  
“Hello?” Eris says. Hannah swallows and opens her mouth, but she can’t think of a thing to say.  
“Who is this?” Eris asks.  
“Um…” Hannah says.  
Eris laughs softly. “Hi Hannah.”  
“Hi,” Hannah replies.  
“What can I do for you?”  
“I was wondering, um…”  
Eris laughs again, knowingly.  
“I’m free tomorrow night. Would you like to meet?”  
“Uh, yes please.” Hannah replies, blushing.  
“Okay. Same as last time. 9pm, suite 617. And Hannah?”  
“Yeah?”  
“This time won’t be free. Think about what you want.”  
“Uh, okay.”  
Eris hangs up and Hannah stares at her phone unsteadily for a few moments before finally putting it back in its cradle and heading for bed.  
-  
She wakes up the next morning with an awful hangover. It’s Saturday, and she’d normally go into the office for a few hours but instead she takes a long bath, makes herself a smoothie and watches mindless tv as she waits for her body to recover. Around lunchtime she takes a nap, and as three o’clock rolls around she finally puts some pants on and goes for a walk. Spring is finally starting to thaw the city and Hannah smiles as she sees daffodils poking out from a window box. She walks for an hour or so before heading home, and as the last of her hangover fades away she relaxes in the warm afternoon light. For the first time, New York feels friendly.  
She gets home and makes herself a sandwich before her conscience prods her into finally checking on any work stuff that might need her attention. She goes into the office to turn her computer on, glances at the phone, and freezes.  
Memory crashes over her.  
“Holy shit.”  
Her immediate instinct is to call and cancel, but she stops just short of picking up the phone, thinking about their conversation from the previous night.  
“Think about what you want?” Hannah says out loud. “What the hell do I want?”  
The memory of Eris’ lips against her neck rises into her mind and she bites her lip. She feels herself automatically try to deny it, hears the words “I’m normal” echo in her thoughts like a mantra, but somehow they seem hollow in comparison to the idea of Eris’ warm, lanky frame next to hers.  
She doesn’t know how long she stands there, staring uncertainly at her phone.  
“What do I want?” She whispers again, and Eris’ face fills her mind. “Okay then.”  
She knocks on the door to suite 617 at precisely nine. Last time she’d come straight from work, but this time she’s had hours to agonise over what to wear. In the end she’d gone for black pants and a crisp, light blue shirt. The door opens, and Hannah breathes in sharply. Eris is wearing a gorgeous, deep red dress and her hair falls around her shoulders in soft curls.  
“Hi,” Hannah says, trying not to blush.  
Eris smiles at her.  
“Come in.”  
Hannah hesitates for a moment before entering. She turns as Eris closes the door and leans against it, watching her with that look that manages to be amused but not condescending. Hannah fidgets slightly.  
“Um, so, how have you been?”  
Eris laughs indulgently and shakes her head, before pushing off from the door and advancing on Hannah like a panther.  
Hannah opens her mouth to speak, but Eris’ hands thread into her hair and pull her into a kiss. She squeaks in surprise, but after a moment she kisses back, losing herself in the feeling of Eris pressed against her. By the time Eris lets her go, Hannah feels boneless.  
“Wow,” she murmurs and Eris laughs happily.  
“Did you decide?” She asks, nuzzling at Hannah’s neck.  
“Decide what?”  
“What you want,” Eris replies.  
Hannah’s heart is pounding in her chest, but her voice is steady as she answers.  
“I want you.”  
Her hands slide around Eris’s waist and for the first time, she leans forward and kisses the taller woman. They kiss for a long moment as Eris backs her into the door and holds her there. Hannah feels herself surrender.  
Finally, their lips part, but before Hannah can react, Eris is nipping gently at the tendon in her throat. She feels a warm hand slide under her shirt and her breathing starts to go ragged as Eris’ lips reach the tender skin just below her ear.  
“You,” Eris purrs into her ear, “are definitely gay.”  
Hannah feels something inside her let go.  
“Yeah,” she agrees softly, “I guess I am.”  
She kisses Eris again and reaches for the zipper of her dress. It’s the first time she’s undressed another woman since college, but her hands are steady. She wants this. Eris smiles as the zipper slides down and as the dress falls in a puddle at her feet, she steps backwards out of it, letting Hannah look at her.  
Hannah does look, for a moment that seems to last a long time, before she starts unbuttoning her own shirt.  
“Get on the bed,” she says, feeling uncharacteristically confident. “I know what I want.”  
“What’s that?” Eris asks even as she drapes herself alluringly across the sheets.  
“I want to hear you moaning my name,” Hannah tells her, dropping her shirt to the floor, “And then I want you to make me scream yours.”  
She unbuttons her pants and lets them drop before advancing on the bed.  
-  
The sun is coming up by the time they finally collapse, sweaty and exhausted. They lie still for a moment, catching their breath, and Hannah looks over at Eris and blushes. Eris sees it and laughs, in that way that manages to be superior and affectionate all at once.  
“Are you thirsty?” Eris asks her, and Hannah nods. Eris rolls gracefully off the bed and saunters over to the minibar, pulling two bottles of water from the fridge. She presses one to her neck and hums in pleasure at the coolness, then turns and walks back to the bed, tossing the other bottle to Hannah. She seems completely unselfconscious about walking around naked and Hannah feels a brief moment of envy, since she avoided her own reflection in the bathroom again that morning.  
“You seem calmer,” Eris comments, and Hannah flushes slightly at the reminder of their previous encounter.  
“I’m sorry about last time,” Hannah mutters, “I’m sure listening to me whine wasn’t what you expected.”  
Eris smiles at her. “You’d be surprised how much of my job involves just listening.”  
Hannah flushes again and looks away, but Eris taps her leg sharply to refocus her attention.  
“We didn’t do anything wrong last night, Hannah. I don’t know what kind of story you’re imagining right now, but I do this job because I enjoy it. I choose my own clients and I only take direct referrals, like what Mark did for you. So relax, you aren’t taking advantage of some poor abused girl.”  
Hannah looks at her, eyes wide.  
“You’ve given that speech before, huh?”  
“Like I said, I choose my own clientele, and I prefer to work with people who have a conscience. That means sometimes, they need reassuring.”  
Eris smiles again and Hannah relaxes.  
“So how does this work?” She asks, not quite believing that she’s contemplating doing this again.  
“It varies. Some people have a regular date booked, some call me occasionally to blow off steam, and some fall somewhere in between. So long as you have the money, it’s entirely up to you.”  
“That, uh, that won’t be a problem,” Hannah says awkwardly.  
Eris laughs softly. “Not used to the paycheck yet, huh?”  
“Not even a little bit!” Hannah agrees, laughing along with her. “Less than a year ago I was living in a crappy little apartment in Japan and now I’m making six figures and my apartment looks like a museum.”  
“Japan?” Eris asks, genuine interest on her face. “You lived there, right?”  
“Yeah, I worked as a translator, then I was transferred to sales and marketing.”  
“What was it like? Living there?”  
Hannah thinks for a moment before she speaks. She talks about the culture and the people and the food and avoids any mention of the emptiness she felt, and how lonely she’d been after losing Helen and her sisters. Eris listens in silence, drinking in her descriptions, until the sound of her alarm intrudes on the moment. Eris glances at her watch and then smiles regretfully at Hannah.  
“Time’s up, I’m afraid,” she says gently. “Checkout is in an hour.”  
She pats Hannah’s leg in a friendly way and stands, heading for the bathroom.  
“I’m gonna shower,” Eris says carelessly, as Hannah watches the muscles in her impossibly long legs move.  
She disappears through the door and Hannah hears the water start running. She reaches for her pants, unsure of how to react. As she’s stepping into them, Eris’ tousled head appears around the door.  
“Care to join me?” She asks slyly.  
Hannah smiles, and her pants hit the floor.

 

Things are good.

Hannah’s company managed to bring in another huge client, she’s finally starting to open the windows in her apartment to let the sun in, and she’s set up another meeting with Eris for the weekend. So, yeah, things are pretty fucking good.

In fact, Hannah’s so happy that she does something strange. Usually, she’d send her assistant, Sarah, to do the laborious task, but not tonight. As her coworkers begin to slowly pack up their things and head out of the office, she catches Pearl’s attention.

“What’s up, boss?” Pearl grins, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” Hannah smiles, shoving her hands into her pockets.

Pearl laughs, “Just opening up a bottle of wine and passing out on my couch. Why, do you have something in mind?”

“I was thinking of checking out that bar that Mark wants me to start taking potential clients to. Bar None, is it?”

“Oh, um, yeah,” Pearl’s eyes widen in surprise, “Are you asking me to go to a bar with you?”

“Yes. For completely work-related purposes, of course,” Hannah explains, “Are you in?”

“Actually, yeah, that’d be great. There’s been a lot to do this week and I could use a –”

“Sorry to listen in, ladies, but did I hear someone mention Bar None?” Mark appears from around the corner of Pearl’s office, dazzling white smile and raised eyebrows in place.

Hannah’s about to tell Mark to go home, but decides against it. After all, Mark’s not a completely terrible guy. He did set her up with Eris, after all. Hannah’s pretty sure that she’s just bitter about the fact that he found the idea of a woman refusing to be with him so repulsive that he flat-out assumed she was gay. Though to Mark’s defense, he wasn’t exactly wrong about that.

So, you know, what the hell? It’s not like she can hold a grudge against the guy forever.

“Pearl and I are going tonight to scope the place out. Y’know, just to see how accommodating it would be for potential clients and to check out their VIP rooms,” Hannah smiles, “Care to join?”

“Count me in,” Mark beams, “Just let me get my coat and I’ll be ready.”

On their way out of the office, the three of them decide to take Pearl’s car because Hannah’s form of transportation is the train and Mark refuses to drive his Jag unless absolutely necessary. “It’s brand new and these streets are filthy,” He had said with a scowl as they made their way towards Pearl’s blue Prius.

As Pearl rounds the front of her car, Mark pulls Hannah into him slightly and whispers, “I’m sorry about what happened between us, boss. Really, I was out of line in making assumptions about you. Are we good?”

Hannah gives Mark a warm smile and nods, “It’s fine, we’re good.”

Mark exhales a sigh of relief and grins in return, “Good. Great. I thought my job was at stake for a while there.”

“You’re an asshole, Mark, but you’re a smart asshole. I couldn’t let you go even if I wanted to,” Hannah laughs, “Oh, and thank you.”

“For what?” Mark slides into the back seat as Hannah goes for the passenger door of Pearl’s car.

Hannah turns over her shoulder and gives him a small smile, “Just… thank you.”

It takes Mark a moment, but as soon as his eyes widen in realization, Hannah’s already turned back around and watching Pearl pull out of the Masubi employee parking lot.

Bar None isn’t as packed as it would usually be, considering the fact that it’s barely 9PM on a Thursday night. But still, there’s a large handful of socialites drinking away their worries in skin-tight cocktail dresses and jet-black suits. Hannah and Pearl feel underdressed in their business-casual attire until Mark flashes some sort of ID to a bouncer and he leads them towards a separate area.

The second lounge is a better fit. There are fewer people than the first, but they’re all dressed as if they just came from work and are here to unwind.

“It’s a clever idea,” Mark says to the women at his side, “Separate rooms depending on the type of client. I’m sure it brings in a lot of cash.”

“I’d say,” Hannah comments and looks around the grand room – she’s not sure she’s ever been in a bar as nice as this one before.

“Pearl, care to come with me to inquire about the VIP rooms?” Mark turns to the brunette and grins, “Hannah, you should get to know the bartender here. She’s hilarious – you’d love her.”

“I’d actually like to hear about the VIP rooms, too,” Hannah says, only vaguely glancing at the redheaded bartender out of the corner of her eye.

“No, Hannah, really, you should get yourself a drink. You’ve had a long week, boss,” Mark says and his smile becomes a bit more forced, “Besides, there are some things that I’d like to catch up on with Pearl.”

Hannah’s about to argue, but her eyes quickly glance to Mark’s hand that’s sliding around Pearl’s waist and ew. No.

“Yeah, alright. You two… you two have fun,” Hannah grimaces and watches as the pair makes their way out of the room – Mark whispering something into Pearl’s ear.

Hannah shakes the idea of Mark and Pearl out of her mind and heads over to the bar, sitting a few seats down from a man that seems to be crying and on his fourth glass of God-knows-what.

“What can I get for you, cutie?” The bartender’s voice snaps Hannah out of her thoughts.

Hannah turns towards the smiling woman and laughs, “Not sure, but I know I don’t want what he’s having.”

The bartender follows Hannah’s eyes towards the drunken man further down and laughs, “Ah, you must be new. That’s Rick – he comes here at least twice a week, gets shitfaced, and cries. He’s also my future husband.”

Hannah laughs, loud and clear, and turns back towards the bartender, “Know what he cries about?”

“Not a clue. He doesn’t really talk,” The woman shrugs, “I have this elaborate plot in my head, though. Want to hear?”

“Absolutely,” Hannah nods and leans in, full attention on the redhead.

“Okay, well from what I’ve gathered, he works at Chase. Sometimes he has company pens in his pocket, right?” Hannah nods in understanding and the redhead continues, lowering her voice, “And once in a while I see him ignore phone calls from a woman called Tammy. Now, I’m assuming that Tammy is his wife – I could be wrong, but let’s be honest, that’s rare. So here we have Rick, an employee at Chase bank, ignoring phone calls from his wife, Tammy. Do you know what that means?”

“I have no idea,” Hannah shrugs, “Is he having an affair?”

“Please,” The bartender rolls her eyes, “He spends 30% of his week crying in my bar, do you think he’s getting laid on the regular? Probably not. What I think is happening, is Tammy is having an affair, but she doesn’t know that he knows. So twice a week, he comes in here, cries out his feelings, and then goes back to his philandering wife.”

“Why wouldn’t he just tell her that he knows?”

“Great question, obvious answer. Tammy is sleeping with his boss,” The redhead leans back as if she had just dropped a bomb that blew Hannah’s mind, “He’s afraid that if he divorces her, the boss will have no reason to keep him around anymore. Rick is convinced that right now, the only reason he still has a job is because his boss feels guilty for him because Rick is actually a completely terrible employee. But as long as his boss is fucking his wife, he can’t let him go. You can’t just fire the man whose wife you’re banging, it’s called respect.”

“So Rick is also crying because he’s working at a job that he’s terrible at?” When the bartender nods in approval, Hannah continues, “What if he’s also crying because literally all of his coworkers know what’s going on between his boss and Tammy? So not only does his wife think he’s inadequate, but all of his peers do, too.”

“Yes,” The bartender nods excitedly, “That’s perfect! Jesus, Rick just breaks my heart more and more every day.”

“So where do you fit into this scenario?” Hannah questions, “I mean, you did mention that you’re his future wife.”

“Well, see, every night I ask him how he’s doing and usually he just ignores me, but one of these nights I’ll break through. I’ll fix his broken heart and he’ll take me right here on this bar counter.”

Hannah grimaces and lifts her hands off of the counter, “So you’re into that, then? Drunk, crying men?”

“Not necessarily, but look at him. He’s beautiful,” The redhead sighs in content, “So what’s your name, stranger?”

“Oh, I’m Hannah,” Hannah smiles and holds out her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Hannah. I’m Mamrie,” The redhead grins and shakes her hand vigorously, “So do you want a role in Rick’s story?”

“I think I’ll pass,” Hannah laughs, “I wouldn’t want to step on your toes.”

“Well, it’s not as if you’d also play the role of his wife. Maybe you could be his cute, tiny, lesbian sidekick.”

Hannah’s eyes widen instinctively at the word – lesbian. She’d never had someone assume her sexuality so quickly before, let alone a stranger. But instead of stuttering out a random string of words in fear, she smiles and nods along.   
“Maybe.”

Although brief, Mamrie picks up on the moment of panic that set into Hannah’s eyes, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she gives Hannah a warm smile and taps her fingers along the bar counter, “So what can I get you to drink, Hannah?”

“What would you recommend?”

Mamrie narrows her eyes, “You got a last name?”

“Hart,” Hannah responds.

Mamrie’s face lights up, “Are you fucking with me?”

“I’m… no?” Hannah nervously raises an eyebrow, “Is there something wrong with Hart?”

“No, it’s just that my last name is Hart, too,” Mamrie smiles proudly, “Maybe we’re sisters.”

“Well in that case, I guess I can be Rick’s sister-in-law.”

Mamrie slams her hand down on the counter, “Yes! I like you, Hannah. How do you feel about pears?”

“I… I like them, I guess. Is that the right answer?”

“I’m going to make you something special, fellow Hart. Don’t move,” Mamrie holds a hand out in front of the brunette as if to make sure that she’s going to stay seated. When Hannah nods in agreement, Mamrie spins around and sets about making the cocktail.

Hannah wonders if being a bartender is some kind of weird, intricate art form – because from the way that Mamrie is tossing random liquids into a shaker, it seems like it should be.

“Ahem,” Mamrie clears her throat as she places a cup in front of Hannah, “Here you go – a Hannah Hart’s Pear of Harts. Get it? Because there’s two of us?”

“I get it,” Hannah laughs, “Dude, this is incredible! Did you really just make me a custom drink?”

Hannah’s about to ask herself why the hell she, a grown woman, just referred to a stranger as dude, but she decides to let it go. The word actually doesn’t sound half bad falling from her lips.

“It’s a slow night and I like you. So drink up and pretend to like it even if you don’t,” Mamrie laughs and Hannah takes a sip of the beverage.

“Yeah, that’s sort of amazing,” Hannah’s eyes widen at the cup.

“I’ve been told,” Mamrie smiles proudly, “So what brings you out here tonight, Hannah?”

“My wife is cheating on me with my boss,” Hannah says with complete seriousness and when Mamrie’s face falls, she laughs, “I’m kidding. I’m here on behalf on my company – just seeing if this bar would be a good place to bring potential clients.”

Hannah’s not sure how the joke falls so effortlessly off her tongue, but it does. And it’s unlike her, really – she’s hasn’t been one to make witty comments at the drop of a hat since her college days, but here she is. She supposes it’s just her body’s way of reacting to the humor of the bartender.

“Don’t fuck with the woman making your drinks,” Mamrie warns, “But how do you like the bar so far? Think you’ll be bringing clients around?”

“Definitely,” Hannah nods, “But only if you make all of them custom drinks.”

Mamrie sighs and lets a smile break through, “I could probably arrange that.”

“Well then I’ll be back soon,” Hannah replies, about to comment again on how amazing the drink is, when she feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey Hannah, the VIP rooms are $500 an hour, which is pretty great for this place. But, uh, do you think you’d mind if we could head out early? Pearl and I have some things to talk about privately, back at my place, if you catch my drift.”

“Oh God,” Hannah winces, “Yeah, I catch your drift. And I’m also not too keen on the idea of driving with you two right now, so why don’t you go on without me?”

“You sure, boss?” Mark asks, raising an eyebrow.

Hannah nods, “I can just catch a cab back, no big deal.”

“Have I told you that you’re my favorite person ever?” Mark brings a hand to his heart before glancing over at Mamrie, “Barkeep, get this fine woman as many drinks as she wants, all on me.”

Mark tosses a matted, black credit card to the redhead and then pats Hannah on the back, “Wish me luck.”

“Absolutely not,” Hannah winces and Mark simply shrugs in return before jogging off towards the glowing EXIT sign.

“He seems like fun,” Mamrie laughs, examining the credit card that the man had given her, “Mark Ashley. That name sounds familiar.”

“You’ve probably heard multiple drunken girls in here cry about how he slept with them and never called,” Hannah scoffs.

Mamrie narrows her eyes at the name across the credit card before shaking her head, “That’s probably it. I’m drawing a blank, anyway.”

“Can I offer you a drink? Mark’s paying, of course,” Hannah grins.

“I’d love to, but that’s against bar policy. You, however, can get completely wasted and provide me entertainment for the next hour of my shift.”

“I have work tomorrow – ”

“Nope, you’re not getting out of this, other Hart. I am going to experiment with mixing new drinks and you are going to try them. Want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you,” Mamrie grabs a box of Jell-O from under the counter and winks, “deserve a drink.” 

And hey, maybe Hannah does. So for the next hour, she lets Mamrie mix together anything and everything behind the counter of the bar and she drinks it as if it’s the greatest thing she’s ever tasted. And while most of the drinks are pretty fucking amazing, there’s a few of them that she knows she’ll regret tomorrow morning.

Mamrie offers to drive her back to her place after her shift ends and Hannah agrees, mostly because Mamrie makes the idea of getting close to someone seem not as completely terrifying as it once was.

When the redhead puts her cell number into Hannah’s phone after parking in front of her apartment building, Hannah offers up a drunken smile.

“I’m not sure if I’ll be good at the whole friend thing. It’s been a while since I’ve done it,” Hannah explains, liquor-infused blood disrupting her usually eloquent tone.

Mamrie laughs, “Just keep laughing at my jokes and drinking my drinks and you’ll be fine.”

There’s something about the way Mamrie smiles that makes Hannah feel like she just might be fine after all.

 

Hannah spends all of Saturday working furiously, both because her clients finally arrive on Monday, and because she’s meeting Eris again tonight and thinking about it gives her butterflies. The shame and guilt she’s felt for years seems to be sloughing off her like a shell she’s outgrown. She feels lighter somehow.  
At precisely 9pm, she knocks on the door to Eris’ suite at the Sheraton. She smiles as Eris opens it, and enters confidently.  
“Hi,” Eris says, smiling back at her.  
“Hello.”  
They stand looking at each other for a moment and while it’s not awkward, exactly, Hannah isn’t quite sure how to get things started. Eris smiles indulgently at her and reaches for the buttons of her shirt.  
Hannah only blushes a little as she watches the other woman undress, and this time it’s from pleasure rather than guilt. She keeps her eyes on Eris as she starts taking her own clothes off, and their locked gaze is intense, but exhilarating. When Eris touches her, she feels an overwhelming sense of relief, as though the stresses and strains of the past week start to melt away. Eris leads her over to the bed and gestures for her to lie down.  
“On your front,” she instructs, and Hannah quirks an eyebrow at her.  
“You’re tense as hell. A massage will help.”  
Eris is even better at massage than she is at sex, if such a thing is possible. After an hour, Hannah has melted bonelessly into the sheets and Eris coaxes her into rolling over.  
“Relax,” she whispers, and touches her so slowly and gently that Hannah genuinely isn’t sure whether she’s going to orgasm or fall asleep. Normally Hannah would touch her in return, because making love to a beautiful woman is a pleasure of it’s own, but tonight Eris seems intent on making her feel well loved. Her orgasm ripples out through her like water, slow and powerful, and she falls asleep almost instantly.  
She wakes up with Eris wrapped around her, slowly stroking the skin on her back. They smile good morning and Hannah wants to ask how she knew just how stressed Hannah had become, but she doesn’t. It seems like it would ruin the magic, somehow. She’s still tired, but the worry and stress she’s been struggling with seems to have lifted.  
On Sunday night, she heads back to Bar None to do final checks. Mamrie smiles at her as she enters, and by the time she reaches the bar there’s a shot glass of something alarmingly orange waiting for her.  
“I have work tomorrow,” Hannah protests.  
Mamrie rolls her eyes. “It’s just a taster, I’m trying something new. What do you think?”  
As she knocks back the shot, Hannah wonders when being around Mamrie is going to stop making her feel like the dorkiest kid in school who somehow got invited to the head cheerleader’s kegger.  
“Holy…” she says as the liquor hits her stomach. Mamrie grins at her and pours her a soda.  
“That’s amazing. Lethal, but amazing.” Hannah tries not to cough and Mamrie chuckles kindly.  
“How is work, anyway? I know you have the VIP rooms booked through next week.”  
“Yeah, we’ve been prepping for these guys for a while now, it’ll be good to just get it over with!”  
“Big client?” Mamrie asks.  
“Maybe. Big bonuses if we land them though,” Hannah smiles.  
“Got it. Well in that case, I’ll keep them just drunk enough to say yes to everything, but not so drunk they can’t sign their names.”  
“You’re the best,” Hannah laughs.  
“Do you want to see the setup?”  
“Please,” Hannah says.  
Mamrie calls over another bartender to cover for her and the two of them head upstairs to the VIP rooms they have booked. Hannah spends a few minutes looking over them and asks for a couple of tweaks, which Mamrie notes down. Hannah’s amazed by the difference between the friendly, playful woman she’s encountered so far and the serious, professional woman she sees now. Mamrie contributes an idea or two of her own and as they shake on the new price, Hannah makes a note to reward Mark for recommending this place. She spends an hour or so sitting at the bar trading bad jokes with Mamrie in between customers, then heads home for an early night.  
Her credit card bill comes through the next day and she stares at the charges, listed under the coy name of “Bellona Enterprises” for a long time, not sure how to react to the tangible proof that she’s paying a woman for sex.  
She doesn’t have time to linger on it, though, as Monday rolls around and the long-awaited reps finally arrive. Hannah has the spa at their hotel booked for their first night, so they can relax after the flight, and on the Monday morning she goes into work two hours early and runs through the schedule and the proposal with her team until she’s satisfied they’re as ready as they can be. When they arrive, she and Mark show them up to the offices and start their spiel. Mark takes questions at the end, since he’s been their liaison so far, and Hannah promises them a tour of the facilities on Wednesday. The morning goes well, and as Hannah heads for lunch with them, she tells Mark to treat everyone while she’s out.  
They end up in Bar None earlier than planned, but Mamrie just nods at her, sends a colleague to prep the rooms and starts entertaining them with custom cocktails made with such flair it looks like she’s dancing. Hannah leads them upstairs and makes sure they’re settled before ducking out to call Pearl to replace her. Exhaustion washes over her.  
As she hangs up her phone, her heel catches on something and she stumbles, but somehow Mamrie materialises out of the shadows just in time to catch her.  
“Woah! You okay there, clumsy?”  
“Yeah, thanks.” Hannah mutters, blushing slightly.  
“You should meet my friend Grace. You’d get on great. Seriously, that girl could trip over a chalk line!” Mamrie continues as Hannah snorts, “We lived together for a while a few years back and I had to take her to the ER six times in one week.”  
“Six?” Hannah asks skeptically.  
“She gave herself concussion, and it made her dizzy. She kept falling over and hitting her head again. The nurses thought they were being punked!”  
Hannah laughs tiredly and trudges down the stairs, aware of Mamrie watching her with concern as she follows.  
“You’re working too hard, kiddo,” Mamrie observes. “Hey, what are you doing this Friday? Once those guys leave, I mean.”  
The question catches Hannah off-guard for a moment, “Nothing that I know of. Why?”  
“Grace and I have tickets to this comedy show on Friday night and we have an extra if you’d like to come. I really do think you’d like each other and you said yourself that you’re running short on friends right now.”  
If she had been asked a month ago to go with a virtual stranger to a comedy show, she would’ve laughed bitterly and declined. But it’s not a month ago anymore, and Hannah isn’t the same person she was back then.  
“Yeah, that sounds great,” Hannah smiles, “Where should I meet you guys?”  
“Well we’re planning on pre-gaming before we head out because watching comedy is a thousand times better drunk, so you can come to our place first to join in. What’s your number? I’ll text the address to you.”  
Hannah rattles off her phone number and watches as Mamrie quickly types it into her phone.  
“Great! I guess we’ll see you on Friday, then, Hannah. And don’t worry, Grace is great. I think you two would have a lot in common. Falling over, at least!  
Hannah smiles, “Looking forward to it. Thanks for tonight, Mamrie, you really impressed those guys. Pearl is on her way, but I’m beat. I’ll see you later.”  
“I’ll keep an eye on them till she gets here,” Mamrie promises and smiles as Hannah pats her arm in thanks.  
She sleeps in until ten the next morning before calling her driver to take her to the manufacturing plant. She does a full inspection to make sure everything is ready for the tour the next day, then heads home for a nap. The spring sunlight is pouring through her window onto the bed, and she stretches out, soaking in the warmth like a kitten as she dozes.  
The rest of the week goes well, but it drags, and by the time Friday afternoon rolls around Hannah has to hold in a sigh of relief as the clients shake her hand and take the contracts for their lawyers. She sees them off at the airport and goes home, struggling to stay awake on the subway as she sends out an email giving everyone the next week off and adding a stern note to the effect that if anyone disturbs her, she’ll donate their bonus to the ASPCA. When she gets home, she falls asleep almost instantly and it seems like only a few seconds before the insistent chirp of her phone drags her back to consciousness.  
“What?” She snarls at the small device. She picks it up at looks at the screen, frowning briefly before grabbing her glasses. The screen swims into focus and she stares blankly at the words COMEDY THING W/MAMRIE until her brain wakes up enough to process them.  
“Shit!” She jumps out of bed and races into the bathroom, flinging off her clothes, and showers as fast as possible. She doesn’t have time to dry her hair and resigns herself to the mild curling she hates as she pulls on jeans and a ‘49ers shirt, grabs her bag and dashes out of the door.  
She hails a cab and climbs in, already dialling her phone.  
“Hey, where are you?”  
“Mamrie, I’m so sorry, I fell asleep. I’ll meet you at the theatre, okay?”  
“Definitely working too hard, Hannah,” Mamrie teases. “We’ll see you there.”  
“You’re the best,” Hannah replies gratefully.  
By the time she arrives, the show has already started. From a few rows back, she sees Mamrie sitting between a blonde she assumes is this Grace person and an empty seat, and tries very hard to think herself invisible as she slinks down to join them. Luckily, her entrance goes unremarked and she slides into her seat murmuring an apology to Mamrie. She gets a friendly elbow in the side in response and their focus turns to the show.  
It’s good. Mamrie is in stitches beside her and although it’s too dark to see, she can hear her friend Grace laughing uninhibitedly. Hannah’s laughing too, hard enough that she’s becoming very aware of how badly she needs to pee. When the show ends, she excuses herself, promising Mamrie she’ll meet them in the bar.  
“Don’t fall asleep!” Mamrie calls after her and without thinking Hannah flips her the bird. Before she can apologise, though, Mamrie laughs even harder and waves her off. She heads for the bathroom, relieves herself and then spends a futile minute or two trying to will her hair to lie straight, instead of curling softly against her cheek. Resigning herself to it, she goes to the bar and finds Mamrie.  
“Grace is getting the drinks,” Mamrie says.  
Hannah nods and the two of them start to talk about the show. After a couple of minutes, Mamrie’s gaze slides past her and she smiles.  
“Grace!” She says in greeting. “Meet Hannah!”  
Hannah turns.  
“Hi, it’s nice to-”  
Eris’ eyes widen, but she doesn’t falter. She hands Hannah a drink and smiles politely.  
“I’m Grace,” she says pointedly. “Nice to meet you.”  
Eris – Grace – extends a hand and Hannah shakes it dumbly.  
“Uh, Hannah,” she mutters.  
“Did you like the show?” Grace asks politely, and Hannah nods.  
“Yeah, it was, um, good. Funny.”  
She falls silent as Mamrie says something she doesn’t quite catch. There’s a fire escape just in her peripheral vision and for a moment, she seriously thinks about making a run for it.   
Grace laughs at whatever Mamrie said and Hannah shifts uncomfortably, trying not to look at her. Mamrie frowns at her.  
“Do you two know each other or something? You’re acting really weird.”  
“I don’t think so,” Grace says and Hannah shakes her head emphatically, even as she feels herself start to turn red.  
Mamrie looks between them for a moment and her jaw drops.  
“No way!” She exclaims.  
“What?” Hannah asks defensively. Grace keeps a straight face as Mamrie points at her.  
“You do know each other!”  
For a brief moment, Hannah has the insane urge to say that just because she knows about the four freckles on Grace’s left thigh doesn’t mean they know each other. She wonders if hiding under the table would be inappropriate at this point. Grace just rolls her eyes.  
“Fine. Yes, we’ve met. And yes, professionally,” she says, forestalling Mamrie’s question. Hannah drops her head in her hands even as Mamrie starts laughing.  
“Hey, it’s okay!” Mamrie tells her. “I know what Grace does for a living, I don’t care.”  
Hannah just shakes her head, utterly mortified.  
“Leave her alone, Mametown,” Grace says. “Let’s go get some pizza or something. Hannah, do you want to come?”  
Hannah opens her mouth to say no, but Mamrie slings an arm around her shoulder.  
“Come have pizza. I still think you two would get on!”  
Somehow, Hannah finds herself in the tiny pizza joint nearby, trying not to look directly at either of them as they talk about an upcoming tour of a comedian they both like. As the overwhelming embarrassment starts to fade, Hannah can’t help but notice the differences between what she’s experienced so far and how Grace is behaving. Where Eris is mysterious, commanding and a little aloof, Grace is lively and energetic and has an off-beat, goofy sense of humour. The differences are so marked that she finds herself thinking of them as separate people and slowly, she starts to relax and join in the conversation. She sees Mamrie’s approving smile as she cracks a joke, but it’s the appreciative laugh she gets from Grace that finally eases the tension in her guts.  
They end up closing the place down and Hannah says goodnight to Mamrie, who smirks at her knowingly. She turns to Grace.  
“Goodnight, Grace,” she says, not exactly awkwardly but with a kind of uncertainty behind it.  
“Night Hannah,” Grace smiles, a genuine grin of happiness that Hannah has never seen before.  
“It was great to meet you.”

 

 

 

The first time Hannah, Grace, and Mamrie had all hung out together was nice, but there was something uncomfortable about the entire situation. Each time Grace cracked a joke that made Hannah bring a hand to her mouth to subdue her laughter, she was reminded that the girl sitting next to her wasn’t entirely Grace. She was also Eris, and that fact alone made Hannah’s stomach clench.

She doesn’t respond to Mamrie’s texts for a while after the night, instead taking time to think about if spending time with the two women is the best choice. At first she thinks that the appropriate answer is no - Grace knew too much and she doesn’t think she can ever be completely comfortable around her. But then she thinks about how much she likes Mamrie, and how much she can see herself liking Grace too as time goes on. She thinks about how much better she’s felt since she’s had real friends in her life.

It might not be the best choice, but Hannah begins replying to Mamrie’s text messages again.

So here she is, sitting on Mamrie’s couch and watching her and Grace bicker back and forth about who they believe the best Food Network chef to be. At first she was listening, trying to pick a side in the great Bobby Flay debate, but recently she’s lost interest. Instead, she’s watching the way that Grace doubles over when she laughs, folding at the waist and kicking at the air with her feet. She tries to compare the action to the way that Eris would laugh, but then she realizes that Eris probably wouldn’t laugh at all. At most, her lips would curl into a faint smirk and then she’d move on.

It’s almost terrifying how many differences there are between Grace and her alter ego. Where Eris is poised and elegant, Grace is clumsy and awkward. Once, before she met Grace, she tried to imagine what Eris would wear when she wasn’t at work – she figured it would be something trendy, perhaps sheer button-up shirts paired with dark jeans and high heels. She imagined the woman to always have her hair done in light, wavy curls and a full face of natural makeup.

But Grace? Grace was none of that. Grace was old, faded sweatpants and mens t-shirts that were often too big for her small frame. She was a messy bun and a clean face save for a small touch of eyeliner.

Grace wasn’t Eris, and Eris wasn’t Grace. It hurt Hannah’s head just a bit when she thought about them being one and the same. 

“Hannah, what about you?”

Hannah snaps out of her thoughts and looks up at Mamrie, “Hm?”

“Who’s your favorite chef?”

“Oh, uh…” Hannah scratches nervously at the back of her neck, “I like Sandra Lee.”

“As in, you want to watch her toss a salad or you want her to toss your salad?” Mamrie smirks, a little too proud of her joke.

“Did you just say that? Really?” Hannah laughs and then shrugs to the question, “I don’t know. Maybe a little bit of both? How old is she anyway?”

Owning up to her sexuality comes easily for Hannah when she’s with Mamrie and Grace. She owns it – unafraid to make jokes or put up with Mamrie’s ridiculous hypotheticals of famous women that she would be willing to sleep with.

And so they slip into a sort of routine, the three of them. On Fridays and Saturdays, they’ll go over to Mamrie’s place and drink and watch shitty television and wake up sprawled out across different pieces of furniture. Sometimes they’ll make it outside and go to a bar or a comedy show, but those nights are a rarity. It reminds Hannah a bit of the relationship she had with a few of her friends back in college – back when her and Helen were together and things were okay. The difference is that now, Hannah doesn’t need Helen to be the source of her joy. She’s perfectly content being with Grace and Mamrie, laughing through the night and waking up with a smile still on her face.

After their first week of hanging out together, Hannah decides that she’s done calling Eris. She sees the alternate form of Grace as a sort of stepping stone for her – something that was necessary for her to accept who she was, but something that wasn’t necessary for her to live on. And the truth is, since she met the real Grace, Eris has faltered in comparison. Because that’s the thing – Grace is real. She’s more than perfect curves and red lingerie. Hannah can hold a discussion with the woman – lock her eyes on Grace’s own and talk for hours about absolutely nothing.

At the three-week mark of her friendship with the pair, Grace says something about the absence of Eris in Hannah’s life. She waits until Mamrie excuses herself to the bathroom of the restaurant they’ve settled into – a quiet, French place that Mark had suggested.

Grace is about to speak, pursing the lips as she considers her words, when her phone rings.

“Shit, I have to take this, I’m sorry,” Grace frowns and turns away from Hannah, bringing her phone to her ear and trying to be as quiet as possible.

But Hannah can still hear her. Grace’s voice drops an octave and it’s husky and sultry – it’s not Grace at all, really. It’s Eris.

“Hey, Daddy,” Eris whispers out and Hannah widens her eyes at the greeting, “More already? You’re insatiable, aren’t you?”

Hannah tries to pay the conversation as little attention as possible, but it’s hard. Especially when Eris uses the word insatiable. That word had always rubbed her the wrong way – reminded her of the shitty romance-slash-smut novels her mother used to leave sitting on the living room table. She picks apart the word in her head, trying to figure out why Eris had never once said it to her. Perhaps it’s not the correct response, but Hannah can’t stop herself from comparing her own phone calls to the one Eris was currently taking.

“How about Monday night?” Eris says into the phone, followed by a soft giggle at something the man on the other line says in return, “You’re terrible. I’ll see you Monday, alright? Same time, same place. See you soon, Daddy.” 

Hannah wonders, briefly, if Eris takes all of her clients to the same hotel room that the two of them went to – suite 617. She imagines an endless cycle of men and women lying across the same sheets that Hannah had fallen apart in, letting Eris touch them in places that Hannah likes to think only she’s been touched.

Grace slips her phone back into her purse and turns towards Hannah with a nervous look in her eyes, “I’m sorry about that.”

“No problem. I take business calls too when we’re together, remember?” Hannah smiles, trying to make the situation less incredibly awkward than it already is, “So, uh… who’s Daddy?”

Grace groans and heat rises to her cheeks, “A client that refuses to give out his real name and instead insists on being called Daddy. It’s terrible, but he pays double what most do for the secrecy.”

“Can I ask you something?” Hannah ignores Grace’s comment, instead cautiously posing her question instead.

“Sure,” Grace smiles, “What’s up?”

“Why do you do it? The… the whole Eris thing, I mean. It’s… well, I’m not judging, you know that I of all people appreciate the services provided, but… I’m just confused as to why this is the path you chose.”

Grace leans back in her chair and nods, “I figured you would ask eventually. Mamrie asked as soon as I told her, but I know you’re not that forward,” Grace laughs, “To be honest, it’s really a control thing for me. It makes me feel all of the things I didn’t feel when I was growing up and even into my early twenties. Powerful, sexy, strong, capable… it wasn’t my first career choice, though.”

“What did you want to do?” Hannah asks, eyes full of curiosity.

“Comedy. I used to do improv for a while – I still do sometimes, but… I don’t know, you can’t really make a career out of that. Stand-up is the most realistic route, but I’m not any good at it.”

Hannah briefly considers mentioning to Grace something she’d seen on the Internet – a link Pearl had sent to her of two girls doing a weekly comedy show online. The gig seemed easy enough and she was sure that with appropriate marketing strategies it could make a lot of money. Despite the potential, Hannah decides not to say anything when she realizes that career advice of any sort probably wouldn’t be that appropriate at the moment.

“How’d you get into the whole, uh… call girl thing, then?” Hannah tries to avoid saying the word prostitute even though she’s sure her alternative has just as much impact.

“A friend from college was into it,” Grace explains, “I was in need of some money and she told me that being an escort was how she got all of hers. I didn’t want to do it – kind of just played around with the number she gave me for a while, but then I figured why not? What was the big deal, really? Sex is just that – sex. It doesn’t have to mean anything, it can be purely for pleasure. So I tried it out and I actually really, really liked it. I worked for an escort service for a while before I had enough regulars to work independently. I haven’t had a regret since.”

“Not one? Haven’t you ever had creepy clients before?”

“Yeah, they can get pretty weird. But if the situation feels uncomfortable, I won’t do anything that doesn’t feel right. For the most part, things go pretty smoothly these days. I only pick my own clients and take referrals from people that I trust, so I don’t worry much.”

“So this is it, then? Being an escort is your set career in life?”

Grace shrugs, “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t really have anything in my life set out in stone. Everything’s sort of up in the air right now, but I like it that way. It makes things exciting.”

“I could never do that,” Hannah shakes her head, “I could never just not know what the future held.”

“I know,” Grace laughs, “You overthink things a lot, which is good. It’s what makes you you.”

“I’m not entirely sure who me is yet,” Hannah says softly, staring down at her lap. She didn’t want to take the conversation down this road, but it somehow ended up there anyway.

“You know you can still call Eris, right?” Grace says out of the blue and Hannah’s eyes widen. They hadn’t mentioned Eris since the first night they met – since then it was silently agreed that the woman would never be mentioned again. Hannah makes a note of the way that Grace talks about Eris – as if she’s in no way connected to her; a stranger.

“I know,” Hannah nods, “I just… it feels kind of weird now.”

“It doesn’t have to be weird, it’s business,” Grace says and then immediately regrets her words as Hannah’s brow furrows in response, “I mean… well, it’s not business, but it doesn’t have to be connected to our friendship, if that makes sense.”

“I understand,” Hannah smiles in reassurance, “But it’d still be weird for me. Hell, it’s kind of weird now knowing about what’s happened with us in the past. I sort of just want to work on this friendship right now, if that’s alright.”

“That’s fine,” Grace nods, “But you’re okay, right?”

Hannah raises an eyebrow in confusion, but then soon understands the meaning of Grace’s words, “I’m… yeah. I’m fine. Honestly, I don’t think I would’ve been if it wasn’t for Eris, but… I’m a lot better now.”

A flush of pink rushes to Grace’s cheeks, “That’s good to hear.”

And Hannah feels like she really is better. Or, she’s on the right path to being so.

A week later, when she’s finishing up a meeting with a new client over at Bar None, she watches as the men she was meeting with slowly filter out of the room. When she leans over to pack up her briefcase, she can hear the sound of high heels clicking their way towards her.

“That was a hell of a pitch,” The female voice says.

Hannah looks up and recognizes the woman from the meeting – she sat behind the others and rapidly took notes, alternating between her iPad and her steno pad. There were a few other young men in suits sitting near her, but she didn’t notice them. It was hard to focus on anyone else but the woman in the black pencil skirt and dark grey blouse, cleavage showing every time she bent over to scribble something down in her notebook.

“Thanks,” Hannah says and gives the woman a smile, “You think your company is interested?”

“I have no idea, to be honest,” The woman rolls her eyes, “I’m just filling in for my boss that couldn’t make it today. But… for what it’s worth, everybody seemed pretty pumped. Like I said, you put on a great presentation, Ms. Hart.”

“Ms. Hart? Jesus, I don’t think anyone’s called me that since I worked in Japan. Please, call me Hannah.”

“Japan, huh? How’d you end up there? Or better yet, how’d you end up here?”

“You have time for a drink? It’s sort of a long story,” Hannah smiles and – God, she wouldn’t usually do this. She wouldn’t usually ask any stranger to get a drink with her, let alone a beautiful woman. But she’s been doing a lot of strange things lately, so this? This isn’t much of a challenge.

The girl smiles and pushes a piece of her shoulder-length black hair behind her ear, “I’d like that. I’m Melanie, by the way, but you can call me Mel.”

Hannah doesn’t stop herself from putting her hand on the small of Mel’s back as she leads her out to the bar.

 

They end up taking a walk through the park. Mel is gorgeous, she’s witty and she keeps ‘accidentally’ brushing against Hannah in a way that makes her palms sweat. Hannah kind of wishes she was still in Bar None so she’d have Mamrie’s cool factor working in her favour, but somehow she seems to be holding her own. She’s never intentionally flirted with a woman in her life; she and Helen happened by accident and Eris was…well, Eris was different. She feels like an absolute nerd whenever she makes a lame joke, but Mel giggles appreciatively, biting her bottom lip and gazing at Hannah through thick lashes.  
This is the scariest moment of Hannah’s life.  
“So, um…” she says, incredibly conscious of her lips for some reason, “do you maybe, um, would you want to, I dunno, get dinner sometime?” On the last word her tongue betrays her; she lisps, and immediately feels herself start to blush.  
Mel smiles at her.  
“Why Ms. Hart,” she says in an outrageously bad Southern accent, “are you askin’ me on a date?”  
Hannah laughs and responds in her own exaggerated valley girl drawl, her momentary embarrassment forgotten.  
“Yah! Fer sure. Totally.”  
Mel smiles again and speaks normally. “I’d love to. Are you free Friday?”  
Hannah nods. “Do you like French?”  
Mel raises an eyebrow, fighting a smirk.  
“I mean, um, would you like to go to a French place? I was thinking Recherché.”  
“That place has a four month waiting list.”  
“Yeah. My job has, um, I mean, I know a guy.” Hannah says.  
Mel shakes her head. “You’re the first person who has ever said that to me without sounding like a total douchebag. Kudos!”  
Hannah’s pretty sure her legs are starting to shake.  
“So, um, is that a yes?”  
“I’d love to.”  
Mel pulls a pen from her purse, takes Hannah’s hand and scrawls her number across the soft inner skin of her forearm.  
“Call me?” Mel asks, a tiny hint of vulnerability in her voice.  
“Promise.” Hannah replies.  
Mel smiles again and leans forward, pressing a light kiss to Hannah’s cheek.  
“See you Friday, hotshot,” she says quietly, before turning and hailing a cab. As it drives away, Mel waves happily and Hannah responds in kind. The cab turns the corner and Hannah pulls out her phone to call her driver when she sees three messages from Mamrie.  
That girl was gorgeous! Did you get her number?   
Are you ignoring me because you’re getting laid right now?   
You’re either getting laid or you got distracted by a cute puppy or something. Call me in the morning. Night stud!   
Hannah checks the time and blinks in shock when she sees it’s nearly midnight. She heads home, alternating between trying not to stare at Mel’s number and trying not to overanalyze the night’s events.  
The doorman on duty smiles at her as she gets home.  
“Did you have a good night, ma’am?” He asks politely.  
“It’s Hannah,” she tells him, before considering his question. “I had a great night.”

Hannah wakes up on Friday morning feeling nervous and excited and just a tiny bit like she might throw up. As the morning goes on, she starts to panic a little and texts Mamrie.   
I can’t do this.  
Why the hell not?  
It’s a date. With a girl. In public. I can’t!  
Hannah. This girl is gorgeous, and if you want to see her naked, you have to wine and dine her first.  
You’re not helping. Hannah replies.  
I know this isn’t your first time, why so nervous?  
You know why  
Hannah can just picture Mamrie rolling her eyes. She’s never understood how Hannah can be comfortable with her sexuality around the two of them but still so terrified of anyone else knowing. To be honest, Hannah doesn’t understand it herself.  
Okay. We’re coming over. Open some wine.  
Hannah breathes a sigh of relief and calls down to tell the doorman she’s expecting guests. Half an hour later, her doorbell rings.  
“Jesus Hannah, I thought the security in Grace’s place was fancy! That dude on the door practically took a blood sample!” Mamrie says, smacking her affectionately as she enters.  
“He asked our names, Mametown,” Grace scoffs as she follows. “It’s a great building, Hannah.”  
“Come in,” Hannah says, “I need help!”  
“Wine first!” Mamrie insists. Grace rolls her eyes, but follows them into the kitchen and accepts her own glass of Bordeaux.  
“Okay, spill.” Mamrie instructs.  
“Date. Tonight. Recherché. Mel. We know the basics.” Grace adds. “Good choice of restaurant by the way.”  
“Thanks.” Hannah says. “I just, I’ve never really done this. Taken a girl on a fancy date. What if I’m bad at it?”  
Grace and Mamrie both smile at her.  
“You’re adorable, you big dork,” Mamrie says. “You’ll be fine.”  
“What if someone sees us?” Hannah asks in a small voice. The two of them exchange a look and suddenly she’s sandwiched in a group hug.  
“Then they see you,” Grace says quietly. “If this girl is as great as you’ve been telling us-“  
“Constantly,” Mamrie adds.  
“For an entire week,” Grace continues, “then you’ll be way too into her to notice anything else."  
Hannah sighs sadly, unconvinced, and the two of them let her go.  
“You have to try sometime, Hannah,” Grace says seriously, and Hannah is suddenly reminded that Grace, or at least Eris, knows pretty much everything about Helen, about the men she used to try and convince herself she was normal, and about how totally, totally gay she really is.  
Grace’s expression is serious as speaks.  
“You like her, right?”  
“Yeah,” Hannah confesses, looking away and kicking at the ground like a guilty teenager.  
“She likes you?”  
“I think so.”  
“Then go for it!”  
Hannah doesn’t respond.  
“Hey,” Grace says, forcing Hannah to look at her again, “you can do this. I promise.”  
The weight in her chest eases slightly as Mamrie nods in agreement.  
“Okay, let’s talk wardrobe. I’ve only ever seen you in business suits or looking like a twelve year old boy, so we’re in charge of your clothes tonight. ‘Kay?”  
Hannah can’t help but laugh as she agrees. They spend an hour picking an outfit and another fifteen minutes arguing between two pairs of shoes before finally moving on.  
“Okay, lingerie” Mamrie says.  
“What?” Hannah asks, alarmed.  
“Sweetie, the lingerie is the key to the whole thing! But since Eris here is the only one who’s seen you in your unmentionables, she can do this part.”  
Grace rolls her eyes and Hannah tries not to blush. She knows Mamrie doesn’t judge their past professional relationship, but the idea of anyone else knowing is still uncomfortable.  
“She’s right,” Grace says, “you want something that makes you feel sexy, that feels good against your skin. What about those black lace ones? They looked amazing on you.”  
Hannah dutifully goes to her closet, trying not to let Grace talking about what she looks like in her underwear turn her brain to mush. She grabs the requested items and takes them out for inspection.  
“Doesn’t go,” Mamrie decides, holding them against the outfit.  
“Okay, what else have you got?”  
Hannah ends up pointing them in the direction of her underwear drawer and pouring herself another large glass of wine before joining them.  
After half an hour, and once they stop mocking her Wonder Woman panties, they decide on a deep green set and leave her to change into them for final inspection. She strips and pulls the underwear on, feeling vulnerable but also somehow like she belongs, like modelling underwear for her friends is a completely normal thing to do.  
“Ready?” Grace asks.  
“Yeah,” Hannah says anxiously. Grace opens the door and closes it behind her.  
“Where’s Mamrie?”  
“She thought you might be more comfortable with just me. You’re pretty tense right now.”  
“You can tell, huh?” Hannah laughs nervously, and Grace smiles.  
“You look great though, really.” She approaches Hannah and gestures for her to spin around. Hannah obeys, trying not to hug herself protectively. Grace adjusts her bra strap briefly, sending tingles over her skin. Apparently her body is still conditioned to respond a certain way when undressed in Grace’s presence.  
“Perfect. You’re beautiful. She’ll go crazy.”  
Hannah blushes again. Grace has never called her beautiful before and she isn’t sure how to feel about it. Her skin is still tingling where Grace touched her and the butterflies she’s been feeling all evening seem to have multiplied. For a moment, Mel vanishes from her thoughts altogether and she feels as though she’s dressing up just for Grace.  
“Now, get your pants on!” Grace says, snapping her out of it,. “It’s nearly seven.”   
Mamrie gives her a pep talk that uses the word vagina eight times, and Grace looks her up and down before she leaves and tells her she looks great in a tone of voice she’s only ever heard Eris use, and by the time she meets Mel, she’s feeling a lot less self-conscious.  
Dinner is amazing and when Mel compliments Hannah’s outfit, Hannah manages to bite down on the urge to tell her that her friends dressed her.  
For the most part, she can focus on the date itself and not worry about being seen by anyone she knows. Mel blushes a little when Hannah insists on picking up the check and tells her that if Hannah’s paying for dinner, she’s paying for dessert, so somehow Hannah finds herself in a little gelato place, sharing a cone with her date.  
When the evening is over, she walks Mel home. As they stand on the steps of her apartment building, Hannah silently debates how to say goodnight when Mel solves her dilemma by leaning forward and pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her lips.  
“Let’s do this again,” she whispers. Hannah nods dumbly.  
The next night she, Grace and Mamrie have their usual night in and she’s grilled for details the second she walks in. When she describes Mel kissing her goodnight, Mamrie whoops in celebration and high fives her. Hannah laughs as Mamrie immediately takes all the credit, and Grace leans forward and squeezes her knee.  
“I’m proud of you,” she says quietly, and Hannah’s chest swells with happiness.  
After a month, things between her and Mel are going well. They’ve done the typical early-date stuff, like dinner and movies, and now they’re in the ‘picnics and trips to the zoo’ phase. She’s still a little paranoid about being seen in public, but so far they haven’t bumped into anyone she knows.  
It’s a Friday night and they’ve chosen to stay in rather than go out. Mel orders pizza and Hannah finds a cheesy rom-com on Netflix and they cuddle up together under a blanket to watch. About half way through, Hannah feels Mel’s fingers gently stroking her knee. She doesn’t react, but goosebumps start to spread over her body.  
“Hannah?” Mel says quietly and Hannah looks at her. She starts to speak, but stops and bites her lip uncertainly before leaning in to kiss Hannah. They kiss slowly for a few minutes before Mel bites provocatively at her bottom lip. Hannah breathes in sharply and pulls Mel closer and before long they’re stretched out on the couch together, the film going unnoticed as they make out. It’s not the first time they’ve kissed like this, but it is the first time Mel’s hand has hesitantly slipped just under the hem of Hannah’s shirt to caress her bare skin.  
Hannah makes a tiny noise and they both stop. They look at each other for a long moment before Hannah nods, once, and Mel touches her again. After a few minutes both their shirts are on the floor and Mel is panting as Hannah kisses her neck and shoulder.  
“Bedroom?” She asks unsteadily, and Hannah’s heart thuds in her chest as she agrees.  
Mel kisses her again in the bedroom, but the walk from the couch has broken Hannah’s rhythm a little and she feels incredibly self-conscious as Mel tugs her pants down. In an effort to get control of herself, she rolls them over so she’s on top and focuses on getting the rest of Mel’s clothes off.  
She’s only ever been with two other women, so she can’t help comparing them. Mel is calmer than Helen, who was a very athletic lover, and smaller than Grace, with none of the lean lines and endless legs taking up the whole space in a way that felt more intimate than intimidating.  
Mel seems a little nervous and Hannah finds herself taking charge, touching Mel experimentally until she figures out what she likes. It takes a while, but eventually Mel moans her name and slumps back into the pillows.  
“Wow,” she says tiredly, “that was great. Give me a minute to recover, then it’s your turn.”  
“That’s okay,” Hannah says, without being sure why, “I’m good.”  
Mel looks at her, concerned. “You sure?”  
“Yeah,” Hannah says.  
“Are you the type that doesn’t like to be touched?” Mel asks gently, and Hannah takes the opening.  
“Yeah,” she says. Even as the lie leaves her, the image of Grace making love to her for hours on end swims into her mind, and she looks away guiltily.  
“That’s okay,” Mel says. “Are cuddles good though?”  
“Of course!” Hannah says, and wraps Mel in her arms. They lie together like that, Hannah gently stroking her arm, until finally Mel falls asleep. Hannah stays awake for a long time after, trying work out why she lied, and why the idea of Mel touching her makes her so uncomfortable.  
After a few weeks of weird, one-sided sex, Hannah still doesn’t understand what the hell is going on. She feels awful for lying to her girlfriend and even more awful that she can’t bring herself to let Mel touch her. Finally she can’t take any more and calls Mamrie.  
“I think I have to break up with Mel,” she confesses.  
“What? Why? This isn’t more gay panic, is it?” Mamrie asks.   
“No! It’s just not working. I don’t know. She’s great, she’s really great, but I’m just not feeling it.”  
“Why not? You were crazy about her a while ago.”  
“I know,” Hannah says, “I don’t know what happened.”  
“Well, if that’s how you feel, then yeah, you should break up. Don’t lead the girl on.”  
“Yeah. Thanks, Mamrie.”  
“Anytime. Come over after if you want, we’ll eat Ben and Jerrys and watch Real Housewives.”  
Hannah laughs, already feeling relieved. “You’re the best.”  
“And let the girl down easy!”

Mel cries when Hannah tells her, and Hannah cries too, more out of guilt than sadness. They hug goodbye and Hannah has a brief, bitter moment where she wonders why Helen couldn’t have been kinder when she did this to Hannah. She heads over to Mamrie’s place and Grace is already there, in sweatpants and a hoodie, holding out a spoon for her as Mamrie brings out a variety of tubs. When she says she doesn’t want to talk about it, they nod in understanding, and Grace sits on the floor leaning against Hannah’s legs while Mamrie curls up next to her. Their wordless comfort starts to ease the guilt she feels and without realising it, she starts playing idly with Grace’s hair, braiding and unbraiding it as they eat ice cream and laugh at the TV. Hannah spends the night on Mamrie’s couch and wakes up with a serious stomach ache from all the ice cream, but she can’t deny that ending things with Mel was a real relief.   
Over the next couple of weeks though, she can’t stop thinking about why she didn’t want Mel to touch her. She wonders briefly if she isn’t gay after all, but her brain helpfully provides her with the contrasting memories of the awful one night stands she had with men and the absolutely spine-melting experiences she had with Grace. She goes back to the routine of hanging out with Grace and Mamrie at the weekends and eventually she she decides to just accept that the chemistry wasn’t there and let it go.  
They’re spending a Friday night at Bar None, since Mamrie has to work but Grace has the night free. Mamrie somehow talks Hannah into challenging Grace to a drinking contest, and even though Hannah points out that Grace is twice her size and drinks vodka like water, she somehow ends up staring Grace down over a line of shots.  
“Bring it on, Harto,” Grace jokes, and Hannah pulls off her tie and wraps it around her forehead, Rambo style.   
“You’re going down,” Hannah promises, and Grace just smirks at her.  
Half an hour later, Hannah raises her hands in defeat as Grace lifts her arms in triumph. Mamrie laughs as they both plead with her for water and calls them a cab. They stagger out to the car and spend the ride laughing at nothing until they arrive at Hannah’s building.  
“I want grilled cheese!” Hannah declares.  
“Me too!” Grace says.  
“Come have some!”  
“I can’t,” Grace replies, pouting exaggeratedly, “I’m lactose intolerable!”  
Hannah snorts.  
“You mean intolerant.”  
“Whatever,” Grace dismisses her mistake with an unsteady wave, “I can’t eat cheese.”  
“Come watch me eat it then. Live vicariously!”  
“Okay!” Grace says, and the two of them giggle their way up to Hannah’s floor. The grilled cheese is forgotten and the two of them end up watching a Spanish telenovela and guessing at the plot with wildly overacted improvised dubbing.  
“Hey, can I crash here?” Grace asks tiredly as the credits roll. “It’s too late to move.”  
“Yeah,” Hannah says, and the two of them wander into Hannah’s room and collapse onto the bed.  
“There’s a spare bed if you want,” Hannah mumbles, already half asleep.  
“Ugh, effort,” Grace responds, and Hannah grunts in understanding before drifting off to sleep.  
When she wakes up, she’s snuggled up to a warm back and her hand is lying on a bare stomach. She sighs contentedly as she moves closer, breathing in the familiar scent and feeling the instinctive mild arousal at the sensation of bare skin under her fingers. Unconsciously she kisses the shoulder blade in front of her.  
“Morning, beautiful,” she mumbles.  
“Hannah?” Grace says.  
Hannah’s eyes snap open.   
“Shit! Sorry dude, habit,” she says, sitting up and hastily removing her hand from under Grace’s shirt. “I thought you were Mel.”   
Grace waves her off, wincing in the morning light. Hannah’s own hangover chooses that moment to announce itself and she groans softly.  
Eventually Hannah manages to make some coffee and the two of them drink it in silence before Grace grabs her shoes and purse.  
“Last night was fun,” she says, smiling tiredly, “but I’m gonna need at least a month’s notice if you want to do it again.”  
Hannah laughs, and then winces.  
“Yeah, me too. See you later!”  
Grace waves and heads out, and Hannah takes her hangover back to bed.  
She dreams of eating pizza and watching Netflix curled up on the sofa with her girlfriend.  
“I love you,” she whispers.  
“I love you too,” Grace replies, and kisses her.  
She wakes up with a pounding head and a racing heart.  
“Fuck.”

\--------------------------------------------------

 

Hannah doesn’t think about the dream all week. She works long hours so she doesn’t have to see Grace and any time she catches her thoughts drifting towards the dream or Eris or anything having to do with Grace, she changes the mental subject as fast as she can. The weekend comes around and Mamrie tells her about an improv show at the PIT, but Hannah tells her she has to work. Friday night comes around and Hannah sits in her apartment and finally thinks about it.  
She keeps coming back to two thoughts. She lied to Mel about not wanting to be touched, and she lied to Grace about mistaking her for Mel that morning. She knew it was Grace, and in her half-asleep, still kind of drunk state, she’d wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and spend the morning making love to her best friend.  
This is not good.  
This is really not good.  
Another week goes by with Mamrie and Grace both complaining that they’ve hardly seen her, and by this point she misses Grace too much too care whether it’s a bad idea, so she invites them over for dinner. They spend the evening laughing and joking like normal, but Hannah is incredibly aware of Grace’s presence in the room, and has to fight not to reach out and touch her. It’s frustrating, and Hannah finds herself getting annoyed with the whole thing.  
Once they leave, Hannah stares at her reflection in the mirror for a long time before she finally says the words out loud.  
“You’re in love with Grace.”  
There’s no dramatic thunderclap or ominous chorus to accompany her epiphany, which seems anticlimactic. She has no idea what to do about it, either. Despite her job, Grace has never shown any sign of being anything other than heterosexual, and Hannah can’t see any way in which these feelings can end well.  
She stops avoiding Grace because acting weird would give her away, but whenever she’s around her friend she wants to reach out and touch her. Her mind goes back to her times with Eris more than she would like, but she can’t seem to stop herself. She even thinks about calling Mel, trying to distract herself from Grace that way, but her conscience won’t let her use another person like that. After a full six weeks of frustration, of thinking of Grace constantly, of longing to be with her, she can’t bear it any longer. She does the only thing she can think of, knowing full well that’s it’s a bad idea. She calls Grace.  
“Hey Hannah,” Grace greets her cheerily, “What’s up?”  
Hannah takes a deep breath before she speaks.  
“Hi, Eris.”

 

 

Hannah tries not to think about Grace too much after her dream, but the blonde seems to be all she can think about. When she’s at work, she finds herself scribbling the letters of Grace’s name across empty legal pads just to see how elegantly she can do so. When she drifts off to sleep, Grace immediately invades her thoughts – dark eyes staring into her own and red lips curling up at the corners.

And, well… Hannah isn’t sure what brought all of this on. At first she thinks it’s just her way of getting over Mel, but she quickly realizes that there wasn’t much to get over in the first place. Mel was kind and funny and beautiful, but there was nothing between them – no spark. Her second theory is that maybe, just maybe, she has developed a sudden, unexplainable crush on Grace.

She mulls over the second theory for two days and by the third, she realizes that the crush isn’t entirely out of nowhere. It makes sense, doesn’t it? She had poured out her darkest secrets and feelings to a woman that listened and told her she was perfect even with those insecurities. And then there’s the obvious fact that she’d seen Grace naked; let the woman touch her in places that hadn’t been touched in years. While at first she had trained herself not to think of Eris as anything other than an escort, things changed. Suddenly, Grace was a part of her life – and she was real and she understood and Hannah didn’t have to pay her to stay up late into the night talking about everything and nothing at all.

So that’s what this must be – a crush on the woman that listened to her when nobody else would. It seems like a normal response, really, and Hannah’s sure that anybody else in her position would feel the same way.

She realizes, the next day, that her theory is completely and utterly incorrect.

“You’re going to love these guys,” Grace whispers, her breath tickling Hannah’s ear as she leans into her side.

Hannah simply nods in response; sure that if she could even come up with a response to Grace her voice would crack and give away how shaken up she is by the closeness.

The lights in the small, worn-down theater begin to dim and four men walk onstage, introducing themselves and welcoming the crowd to their improv show. Improv really isn’t Hannah’s thing, but she knows that Grace and Mamrie love it so she keeps her opinions to herself. 

The four men take suggestions from the audience and quickly begin their first sketch. Hannah’s not paying much attention, but she thinks it has something to do with a missing foot and an emergency room. Instead, she’s focused more on the way that Grace is laughing – eyes crinkling at the corners and feet kicking at nothing in the way that they do when she’s genuinely amused. Her laugh itself is high and loud – a sound that she can’t even begin to imagine coming out of Eris’s lips. It’s entirely Grace.

It makes Hannah’s chest flutter just a little bit. Scratch that, it makes her chest clench. She wants nothing more than to wrap an arm around Grace’s shoulders and let her rest her head against her chest so she can feel the vibrations of the laughter that runs through her body. She realizes, in the moment, that she doesn’t care that Grace knows every ridiculous detail about her past and how she feels about her future – all she cares about is Grace’s laugh. And her smile. And all of her other adorable mannerisms, like the way she’s clutching her hands together at her chest and watching the stage with wide, fully attentive eyes.

So, no, Hannah isn’t falling for Grace because of the things that she’d shared with Eris. She’s falling for Grace because she’s Grace – funny, beautiful, awkward, and a thousand other adjectives that Hannah wouldn’t mind making a list of when she gets home.

When the realization hits her, Hannah quietly excuses herself from the audience and makes her way through empty halls until she stumbles upon the women’s restroom. She tosses tap water in her face and holds onto the edges of the stained sink, staring at her reflection.

“Don’t do this, Hannah,” She tells herself in the mirror, shaking her head in warning, “Not Grace. You can’t fall for Grace.”

But as soon as the name leaves her lips, Hannah knows that there’s no point in fighting it. She’s sure that with every day she spends in Grace’s atmosphere, she’ll only find the girl invading her thoughts more and more. She’s been in this position before, all those years ago, when she first met Helen. She didn’t want to fall, but she did, and she kept falling and falling and falling until –

Hannah can feel the small, sticky bathroom suffocating her. Out of the corners of her eyes, she swears that the walls are inching closer and closer to the single sink she’s standing in front of, threatening to lock her between them. She unbuttons the top button of her shirt and runs a hand through her hair, trying to calm herself down, but her efforts fail.

She needs to get out. She pushes her way through the bathroom door and finds that her feet aren’t carrying her back to the theater, but towards the exit. She doesn’t know that she’s running until she stops to hail a cab, face hot and chest heaving with exertion.

“My place,” Hannah says to the cab driver, used to having a personal driver know all of her most frequently visited addresses. 

The man laughs from the front seat, “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, sweetheart.”

The slip-up would usually embarrass Hannah, but not tonight. Tonight she has bigger things to worry about. She rails off her home address to the man and rolls down her window, hoping that the rush of 10PM New York City will wash away her anxiety. It doesn’t, but she figures it was worth a try.

When she gets to her apartment, Hannah immediately collapses onto her couch, clutching her head between her hands in an attempt to slow everything down so she can think clearly.

Her love for Helen had come on gradually, but she’d been aware that it was happening since the first day she saw her sitting alone in a summer dress on their campus quad. Whenever Helen’s hand would brush against her own by accident, she became more in control of the feelings that she had tried so hard to fight off, afraid of being labeled by a sexuality that she was so sure she wasn’t. Despite her hatred of it, Hannah still accepted the way she felt. When she finally realized she was in love Helen, it wasn’t a shock – it was an inevitability. 

But it’s different with Grace. This time, her feelings hit her like a brick wall that somehow appeared out of nowhere. Or, maybe it’s not out of nowhere – maybe she’d been blindly speeding towards the wall for weeks now, unaware of what was about to happen.

“I have a crush on Grace,” Hannah says out loud to her empty living room, thinking that if she says the words out loud, her mind will shut the hell up.

It doesn’t work. Hannah groans and hangs her head between her knees, praying that the sinking feeling in her stomach will subside if she stays there long enough. Three minutes of this must pass before she feels ridiculous for thinking it would work. She decides to try something new.

“I’m in love with Grace,” Hannah says and everything comes to a halt. The room stops spinning and the pounding in her skull begins to subside and –

“I’m in love with Grace.” Hannah repeats, more confidently this time. Her chest still aches, but it’s different now. She can feel her heart beat in her stomach and the feeling isn’t exactly desirable, but it’s not terrible, either. She can’t remember ever feeling this way with Helen, not even when the girl had captured her lips for the first time in a dark movie theater.

This feeling was different. Dangerous.

When her phone vibrates with an incoming call from Grace, she immediately ignores it and tosses her cell to the floor. If she really is in love with Grace (which she’s fairly certain of at this point), she needs to get over it. And the easiest way to do that is to avoid her.

So this is what Hannah does for the next three weeks. She dodges Grace and Mamrie’s calls, focuses herself entirely on her work and her slowly blossoming friendship with Pearl and Mark, and tries to push down her feelings for Grace as much as possible.

The problem with repressing feelings is that it doesn’t always work – and, in Hannah’s case, as the weeks progress she only finds herself missing the blonde so much that she thinks about her more, if possible. There’s not a night that goes by that she doesn’t consider picking up her phone and calling Grace, telling her that she’s sorry for not getting in touch sooner and she wants to see her as soon as time will allow. But she doesn’t do this, of course. Instead, she holds onto the idea that maybe, if she stays away from Grace long enough, she’ll eventually begin to move on and the terrible longing feeling in her gut will disappear.

It’s day 23 of Hannah’s new, Grace-free life when she gets a text.

Not sure what’s going on, but we really miss you. I really miss you. 

The heat that floods through Hannah’s chest makes her feel like maybe it would be worth it, just a little bit, to allow the blonde back into her life. If the alternative is feeling this terrible all the time, then why try to fight it?

She knows that she’s about to make a bad decision, but she does it anyway. The phone rings only once before Grace picks up.

“Hannah? Is that you?”

Hannah has it all planned out – she would lie and tell Grace that she went through a few bad weeks in fighting her sexuality, but she’s better now. She would apologize and ask Grace how she’s been. It would be that simple, really. She’s sure of it. But instead of rattling off an apology, her mouth has another idea.

“Hi, Eris.”

There’s a long silence, long enough for Hannah to count to fifteen, before Grace responds. She expects a laugh or a sigh or a speech on how ridiculous Hannah’s being, but she gets none of those things.

“Hi, Hannah,” Eris says back, voice deep and sultry and entirely un-Grace, “What can I do for you?” 

“Suite 617. Tonight.”

Hannah’s not sure what’s taken over her, but she doesn’t regret it. She knows she’s running in the exact opposite direction of progress, but it feels good. She feels alive.

There’s another silence before Eris responds and when she does, there’s a tone of sadness in her voice, “I’ll see you there.”

The line goes dead, and Hannah tries not to think about what she’d just done.

Eris is already there when she shows up, despite the fact that Hannah arrives twenty minutes early. Eris looks at her cautiously, as if waiting for Hannah to say that she doesn’t actually want to go through with this, but Hannah does no such thing. Her arms wrap around Eris’s waist and she kicks the door shut behind her. She lets her heart take over – the part of herself that she’d tried to keep locked away for the past three weeks. When her lips connect with Eris’s own, she lets her mind tell her that this is Grace. This has always been Grace.

Eris lets out a soft, unexpected moan when Hannah’s fingers abruptly slip beneath her underwear.

“Hannah,” Eris says and for a moment, Hannah can’t tell if the voice belongs to Eris or Grace, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Hannah’s eyes widen and Eris can see tears beginning to brim over glossy, blue irises.

“I need this,” Hannah responds in a whisper, voice cracking lightly on the last syllable.

Eris nods and guides Hannah’s hand back to her waist in response. She moves her lips to Hannah’s ear and lowers her voice back to its usual, fully-Eris tone, “Then fuck me.”

She does. It’s the first time, in fact, that Eris lets Hannah take charge. Hannah tries to memorize the moment that Grace falls apart, hands clutching at her neck and heels digging into her back and lips crashing against her own. Later, when they switch roles and Hannah’s the one thrashing against the sheets, Eris doesn’t even bat an eyelash as Hannah’s mouth curls around one, simple name: “Grace.”

Eris falls asleep first, chest slowly rising and falling as her lips relax into a smile. Hannah watches her, wondering if this actually was as terrible of an idea as she had thought. She considers the alternative – sitting at home, thinking about Grace, and trying to figure out if she’ll ever see her again or if she’ll move on to other girls that she knows she won’t love quite as much. Instead she’s here, lying down next to the woman that she’s in love with after spending nearly an hour together in bed. And, well, maybe she’s unsure of whether or not Grace feels the same way or if it was truly Grace that she had made love to, but it’s better than nothing. It has to be.

The next day, Hannah phones Mamrie and tells her the speech that she had prepared to tell Grace the day before. She figures that if she’s already crossed a major line with Grace, there was no point avoiding the two of them anymore. Mamrie understands, of course, and invites Hannah out to Bar None after closing for drinks and to catch up.

Grace is there when she arrives, and Hannah immediately notices the way her cheeks flush pink when she sees her. That has to be a good sign, right? 

“Hi,” Hannah smiles, sliding onto the barstool next to Grace, “How’d you sleep?”

Grace doesn’t respond immediately, instead takes a sip of her drink and takes a moment to let it settle. When she does speak up, her voice isn’t hers at all – it belongs to Eris, “If this is going to work between us, I need you to understand that my business is just that. Business. It can’t cross over into my real life. Do you think you can keep the two separate?”

Hannah knows that the correct answer is no because, really, it’s not Eris that she’s in love with. But she also knows that saying no would also put an end to whatever it was she was doing with the blonde. And she would rather be able to touch Grace without ever speaking of it when the sun rises than to not be able to touch her at all. It’s better than anything else she can imagine.

“I can.”

 

It’s amazing just how adaptable the human mind is. After barely three weeks, Hannah has all but perfected compartmentalising her life. When she’s with Grace and Mamrie she can focus on whatever terrible reality show Mamrie is making them watch and rattle off puns so bad that they throw olives at her until she promises to stop. Within the walls of suite 617, she is absolutely consumed by her emotions, overwhelmed with the desire to touch and be touched, to press her skin against Grace’s and sate her hunger for the taller woman, if only for a few hours.  
She hasn’t let Grace’s name fall from her lips again, though. Doing that would break the rule, blur the line, and Hannah will not do anything that risks losing these precious moments. Grace never gives herself away, there isn’t so much as a stray look when they’re being Hannah-and-Grace, but when it’s Hannah-and-Eris she looks into Hannah’s eyes all the time, judging when to move, where to touch, how long to tease each moment out. It should make it easier to separate the two again, to split Eris from Grace in her mind and rid herself of these feelings she absolutely cannot have for her best friend. Falling for an escort is manageable. Falling for Grace has the potential to turn her life back into the empty shell it was during her first few weeks in New York.  
She spends the night with Grace six times before the rule gets broken and to her surprise, it’s not her who breaks it.  
She’s pulling her jacket on as Grace exits the bathroom, still in her robe, with her hair hanging dark and wet around her face.  
“You’re leaving? Checkout isn’t for an hour,” She says.  
“My meeting got pulled forward. I have to get into the office.”  
Grace bites her lip in a decidedly un-Eris way before she speaks.  
“Hannah?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Come by my place tonight?”  
Hannah freezes. They look at each other for a long moment before Hannah answers, choosing her words like she’s choosing between the red or blue wire.  
“Sure, um, Grace. I’ll be there around nine?”  
Grace nods. Hannah turns and walks out, automatically trying to shove the night’s events into the corner of her mind where she hides these things, but it isn’t easy. She’s distracted and the day drags even longer with the early start, but eventually everything is done and she turns down Pearl’s offer of a drink with a regretful smile.  
She goes home and does laundry in an effort not to drive herself crazy watching the clock until finally the time comes and she texts Grace to let her know she’s on her way.  
Grace buzzes her into the building without a greeting and Hannah hesitates before she knocks on the door to Grace’s apartment. Her stomach is writhing with nerves. Half of her is convinced that Grace is going to insist they stop seeing each other, the other half can’t help but hope that she’s going to say that Hannah doesn’t need Eris, that Grace wants to be with her for real.  
She knocks before she can psych herself out too badly and shifts from foot to foot anxiously as Grace’s own footsteps grow louder. The door opens and Hannah realises she’s been holding her breath.  
“Hi,” she says.  
“Hey. Come in.”  
Grace doesn’t seem upset, or angry, or excited, or anything else that might indicate that one of Hannah’s scenarios is about to happen. Instead she walks through to the kitchen and calls out “red or white?” like this is a totally normal girl’s night.  
“White,” Hannah responds automatically. She hears the sound of liquid flowing and when Grace reappears she accepts the offered glass tentatively, feeling off-balance and a little unnerved.  
The both sip their wine, acknowledging the need to brace for whatever’s about to happen.  
After a long moment, Grace finally speaks.   
“Hannah, what the fuck?”   
Hannah flinches and stares at her glass in silence, but Grace is apparently willing to wait her out.  
“I don’t know,” she mutters.  
“Hey,” Grace says, her tone gentle, “talk to me.”  
This is her moment. This is where she confesses everything and hopes against hope that Grace feels the same way, or at least that she can forgive Hannah’s behaviour over the last couple of months.  
“I wasn’t ready.” She’s not entirely sure what she’s saying, where this is heading.  
“For what?” Grace asks.  
“For being out. Being gay. The whole thing with Mel, I liked her but I couldn’t relax. I felt like everyone was watching.”  
She’s not lying, but she’s telling the wrong truth. She keeps going in the hope that eventually she’ll spit it out.  
“Eris…Eris made me feel safe. Like I could be myself without anyone seeing. I thought I was ready to go past that and it turned out I wasn’t.”  
Say it, Hannah, she urges herself. Tell her the truth.  
“I feel safe with you,” she says, but before she can go further her throat closes up and she shakes her head helplessly.  
“You said my name, the first time,” Grace says quietly. Hannah can’t identify her tone.  
“I’m sorry about that,” she manages, voice shaking and close to tears.  
“Hannah,” Grace whispers, and Hannah finally looks at her.  
“If you need me, I’m here. I just - fuck, Hannah, I just want you to be okay. If Eris is what you need for that, I’m there.”  
Hannah nods as she feels tears start to slip down her cheeks. Grace makes a pained face and stands up. Hannah mimics her automatically and gasps as she’s pulled into a tight hug. The words are right there, sticking in her throat like bone fragments – “I don’t need Eris, I need you” but she’s sobbing too hard to do anything other than cling to Grace desperately as she strokes Hannah’s hair and murmurs nonsense words of comfort to her.  
They stay like that for a while until Hannah finally gets herself under control. Grace kisses the top of her head as they ease apart and it almost breaks her again, but instead she rubs at her eyes and tries not to meet Grace’s gaze.  
“Sorry,” she says quietly.  
Grace smacks her.  
“Don’t apologise, you idiot,” she instructs, sounding emotional herself. “It’s what I’m here for.”  
Hannah laughs unsteadily and sniffles. They look away from each other for a few moments to get themselves under control and Hannah coughs slightly.  
“So, um, we’re cool?” Hannah says.  
“Yeah,” Grace says. “We’re cool.”

They don’t see each other at all for a couple of weeks after that. Another big client comes up, big enough that she hires a PA, and Hannah throws herself into her work, sending the odd text to her friends to assure them she’s still alive.  
Even though she didn’t confess, she feels a lot less guilty about the whole Eris thing. She has a plan now. She’ll get it out of her system with Eris and she and Grace can go back to normal, because God knows her friendship with Grace and Mamrie is the best thing in her life.  
She has a plan. Everything is going to be okay.  
It’s a Friday afternoon at the end of a long three weeks. Hannah is in her office, ploughing through a stack of paperwork so she can hand it over to Legal and go home with a clear schedule for the weekend.  
She twists her head, trying to loosen the ache in her neck. A deep sigh escapes her and she looks longingly at her phone. She knows Mamrie isn’t working tonight and the idea of inviting her over to the apartment for drinks is incredibly attractive. She could invite Grace too, although her more varied schedule might prevent it.  
She sighs again and turns back to her screen, resigned to a long night, when there’s a knock at her door.  
“Come in,” she says tiredly.  
Pearl opens the door and smiles at her.  
“You look like I feel, boss,” she comments. Hannah grunts in lieu of laughter.  
“Everybody’s stuff is done and submitted to your work queue. Do you need a hand getting it finished?”  
Hannah almost says yes, but her conscience stops her.  
“Nah, you guys go home. They pay me enough for this bullshit, I’m gonna get it done. See you Monday.”  
Pearl nods, looking relieved.  
“Oh, your six o’clock is here.”  
“I have a six o’clock?” Hannah asks, bewildered.  
“I guess so. She’s in reception, should I have them send her up?”  
“Sure. It’ll be in my calendar somewhere, it’s just been a crazy week.”  
“Amen!” Pearl agrees. “Later, boss. Get some sleep!”  
Pearl leaves and Hannah opens her calendar, looking for any mention of a meeting. There’s nothing there, and Hannah makes a note to go over scheduling protocol with her new PA as soon as possible. She tidies her desk and smoothes her shirt, trying her best to look fresh and professional rather than frazzled and chaotic.  
Her team are still filtering out as the elevator chimes it’s arrival and from her desk Hannah sees Mark do a double take and then look over at her in shock. She can’t see the elevator from where she is and she tries to figure out who could possibly be in it to provoke that reaction, but her brain function has slowed to a crawl. She’s already preparing an apology and a request to reschedule as she stands, well aware that she’s in no shape for anything more demanding than paperwork right now.   
“Hi, sorry,” she says, automatically offering her hand to shake. “There’s been a scheduling error and-“  
Her visitor speaks over her  
“There’s no error, Miss Hart.”  
Hannah stares in shock as Grace – as Eris – smiles at her. Against her will, her gaze slides over Eris’ shoulder to where Mark is still staring at them, the beginnings of a smirk on his lips.  
“I believe we have an appointment?” Eris says, and smoothly shows herself into Hannah’s office. Hannah blinks twice, then mutely follows and closes the door.  
“What the-“  
She’s cut off by a long finger resting against her lips.  
“Shhh,” Eris instructs gently. “Sit down. No talking.”  
Feeling almost hypnotised, Hannah obeys, sitting behind her desk as Eris closes the blinds and locks the door. Hannah can’t help but wonder if she’s dreaming.  
“What-” she tries to ask again, only to be cut off with a stern gesture and a frown.  
“No talking until I say. Understood?”  
Hannah nods dumbly. Her brain is far too addled to process what is happening but her body is waking up; responding to that voice, that tone, the same way it has every time she’s heard it.  
Eris’ hair is loose and lightly curled, falling in perfect golden waves over her shoulders. She’s wearing a long, tan coat even though the heat of summer hasn’t yet faded from the city and a pair of absolutely gorgeous heels.  
“Mamrie and I were talking,” Grace says, “and we both think you need a break. She says, and I quote: ‘I can feel her tiny body tensing up all the way across the city.’”  
“Uh…” Hannah manages, only to be shushed again.  
Grace unties the belt on her coat slowly and deliberately, letting it part a little, revealing a tantalising hint of skin.  
“I know how to get you to relax, Hannah. First, I’m going to make that mind of yours stop running, then I’ll take you home, put you to bed and in the morning the three of us are going for pancakes and mimosas. Deal?”  
Unsure if she’s allowed to speak at this point, Hannah just nods.  
“Good.” Grace lets the coat slide from her shoulders and pool at her feet. Hannah takes a deep breath.   
Grace is wearing something Hannah has never seen; an elaborate set of dark lingerie featuring stockings, garters and a delicately embroidered corset closed with silk ribbons.  
“Hnng,” Hannah comments astutely. Grace smiles in response, looking triumphant and predatory. She prowls around the desk, gently stroking her own satin-covered stomach.  
“You like?”  
Hannah nods.  
“Good.”  
Grace leans back against Hannah’s desk and tugs playfully at the silk laces of her corset before running a possessive hand through Hannah’s hair. Hannah’s hands come to Grace’s hips and run down the outside of her thighs, feeling the mild tension in the garter straps.  
“Fuck,” she breathes. Grace nods, and starts to unbutton Hannah’s shirt.  
“Here’s what I want,” she says, “I want to have you, on this desk, right now. Every time you sit in that chair, I want you to remember me fucking you until you can’t think any more. Is that okay with you, Hannah?”  
“Oh, God yes,” Hannah breathes, and as Grace unfastens the last button on her shirt she stands and pulls Grace into a desperate kiss. Grace’s hands slide into her hair again and Hannah finds herself being slowly turned until she’s the one backed into the desk. Grace stands between her legs, pressing their bodies together and rolling her hips slightly. Hannah moans quietly into Grace’s mouth and pulls her closer, leaning back until she’s lying on the desk. She can feel the outline of a pen dig into her back, but soon she has far more important things to focus on.  
Grace tugs her pants and underwear down and another predatory smile blooms on her lips.  
“You’re always so wet, so ready for me,” she says appreciatively, tracing the tendon on Hannah’s inner thigh. Hannah swears roughly.  
“Language!” Grace chides, pinching her lightly.  
“Sorry,” Hannah mutters. Her hands grip her own hair and her stomach burns slightly as she holds herself up to look at Grace.  
“Let’s make this short and sweet. We don’t want the janitor walking in, do we?”  
Hannah has never seen someone make kneeling into an act of dominance, but as Grace sinks to the floor Hannah has never felt more owned by another person. Grace’s lips finally touch her and she swears again, gripping at the side of the desk.  
Grace doesn’t play around. She knows Hannah’s body, knows how to touch, and Hannah feels herself being driven towards orgasm with an intensity so focused that the pleasure almost borders on pain. Grace is all around her, inside her, touching every part of her, and part of her wants to tell Grace to stop, or at least slow down, but when she gathers enough breath to speak she finds herself begging for more. Tonight, she wants to hurt a little bit, and Grace understands that somehow.  
Grace’s nails dig into her legs and her orgasm shoots through her like lightning. She lies, panting, against the desk, until finally Grace pulls her to her feet and re-dresses her before pulling her coat back on and leading her out of the office on unsteady legs.

Hannah isn’t sure how she ends up back at Grace’s apartment. The journey is nothing more than a barely-awake haze and the only thing she’s really conscious of is Grace’s hand lying on her knee. She can’t interpret the gesture and in the end just decides to enjoy the warmth flowing from Grace and figure it out in the morning.  
Grace has a spare room, but by unspoken mutual consent they end up in bed together. Hannah wraps herself around Grace and sighs contentedly before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.  
She wakes up alone, but the smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen tempts her out of bed. Grace is standing at the counter in sweatpants and a college tshirt, wet hair wrapped in a towel.  
“Good afternoon!” She teases as Hannah rubs at her eyes. “I put fresh towels out and you have some clothes in the dresser in the spare room. Mamrie will be here in an hour and we’ll have lunch delivered, okay?”  
“What?” Hannah asks. Grace smiles indulgently.  
“Coffee,” she instructs, pointing at the pot. “Shower, clean clothes. Lunch with Mamrie. Did that register?”  
“Uh, yeah,” Hannah says, accepting the mug Grace hands her.   
“Good!”  
The afternoon goes as planned and Hannah starts to feel a little more human as she slowly unwinds. Mamrie scolds her for working too hard and makes her promise to visit Bar None the next night for some actual fun. Hannah manages to bite her tongue before she says something about Grace having that covered, but her expression must give her away because Grace smirks at her.  
The coffee wears off after a while and Hannah nods off halfway through the conversation. Mamrie pokes her sharply in the ribs, jerking her awake.  
“Hey! Nap on your own time, I’m being fucking hilarious here!”  
“Sorry Mames,” Hannah says through a yawn, “It’s been a crazy month.”  
Mamrie rolls her eyes affectionately.  
“Come on, sleepyhead, I’ll give you a ride home. You can finally put that fucking huge bed to use.”  
Grace clears her throat.

Hannah hits the sheets as soon as she gets home and sleeps straight through to Sunday morning. She wakes up with an extremely full bladder and a mental note to hire or promote someone to be her deputy. The job was perfect when she had nothing else to focus on but for the last few months it’s been more draining than distracting.  
She spends a lazy day pottering around the apartment, doing laundry and reading an old book of haiku she picked up in college. Around nine, Mamrie texts her and reminds her of her promise, so she dutifully heads downtown and makes a show of deliberately sitting in her usual spot at the bar. Mamrie grins and pours her a drink, then walks round the bar and orders one of her own.  
“I’m officially off duty. We’ll have a drink here, then there’s a new dance place I want to check out.”  
“No Grace tonight?” Hannah asks, keeping her tone neutral.  
“She’s working,” Mamrie answers.  
Hannah stomach turns over. She tries not to think about it, but the image of Grace giggling on the phone to some creep called “Daddy” flashes through her mind, before another, worse thought occurs to her: Mark. She forces a smile and gulps her drink.  
In the cab, Mamrie tells Hannah about a disaster involving her newest bartender, a bottle of Courvoisier Erte and the UN ambassador to Italy. Hannah embraces the distraction and laughs along with the story, and when they arrive she drags Mamrie straight onto the dance floor and throws herself into the music, hoping that the thumping bassline will drive the idea of Grace in someone else’s arms from her mind.  
After an hour or so, she heads for the bar, toying with the idea of getting blackout drunk. She orders a soda instead and sips it slowly, letting herself cool off after the crowded heat of the dance floor.  
“Hi.”  
The woman next to her at the bar smiles invitingly. She has shoulder length brown hair, a straight nose and a small scar bisecting her eyebrow.  
“Hi,” Hannah replies.  
“Would you like to dance?”  
“Uh, no thank you,” Hannah says.  
“Then how about a drink?” The woman puts a hand on her arm and Hannah jerks back.  
“Don’t touch me,” she snarls, the old instinct to protect herself rising, “I’m not like that! I’m normal, okay?”   
The woman recoils briefly before nodding and walking away. Hannah turns, only to find Mamrie staring at her.  
“The fuck was that?” Mamrie demands.  
“I’m just not in the mood to get hit on by random strangers, Mames,” Hannah says. Mamrie nods, but the concerned frown stays on her face as she watches Hannah walk away.

 

Mamrie keeps an eye on Hannah after her incident at the club. At least that’s what Mamrie has been mentally referring to it as – an incident. At first she didn’t think much of it, assumed that Hannah was just a bit too tipsy and less than attracted to the woman that had approached her. It seemed to make enough sense, didn’t it? Mamrie has, after all, turned down her fair share of men during a night on the town. Why would she penalize Hannah for doing the same?

Despite this logic, she still feels like there was something off about the situation. There seemed to be a change in Hannah’s voice when she spit out the words “I’m normal!” – a note of defense that she hadn’t heard since she first met the woman, months ago, back at Bar None.

Despite the unsettling feeling that grows in her stomach that night, Mamrie decides to let it go. Hannah has a right to turn down whomever she wants and Mamrie has no right to interfere with those decisions.

It’s a week or so later when she begins to worry again. Hannah enters Bar None in a light blue button-up and a god awful loose-fitting skirt. Her hair is pushed back with a wood-colored headband and her lips seem to be coated in some sort of rose gloss – the type of makeup that she’d expect to see on Grace when she does herself up, not Hannah.

“What’s all this?” Mamrie questions, waving a hand in the air to gesture to Hannah’s attire.

Hannah looks down at her outfit and frowns, “Is something wrong with it?”

“No, not at all. It’s just that I haven’t seen you wear a skirt since you realized how super, super gay you were,” Mamrie laughs, steadily agitating a cocktail shaker as she does so.

Hannah immediately tenses at her shoulders and looks around, “Jesus, Mames, keep it down, will you?”

“What? Hannah, the only people back here are me, you, and Rick over in the corner crying over his third scotch & dry. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Hannah mumbles, taking a seat in front of the bar and suddenly wishing she was somewhere else.

“Then explain the outfit choice to me, will you? It’s a bit different from the usual pant suit getup I see you wearing.”

Hannah shrugs, “Thought I’d mix it up today. I think it looks nice.”

“Yeah, it’s nice,” Mamrie raises an eyebrow, “I’m just not sure that it’s you, is all.”

“What, am I not allowed to wear a skirt?”

“No, of course you can, I –” Mamrie takes a breath to calm herself before offering a smile to the girl sitting on the opposite side of the bar, “You look great, Hannah. Forget I said anything.”

Hannah nods, albeit reluctantly, and then requests a shot of whatever Mamrie has that’s strongest. Though the girls fall into their usual rapport, Mamrie can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to Hannah’s current situation than a simple desire to wear skirts again and turn down beautiful women’s advances. She can’t exactly put her finger on it, but she knows that she needs a second opinion.

When her shift at Bar None ends a couple hours later and Hannah’s stumbled her way into her personal car, Mamrie sets about making her own way home. However, instead of getting off at her usual stop on the subway, she stays on one stop longer and navigates her way through familiar sidewalks until she’s buzzing into an even more familiar apartment complex.

“Hello?”

“Grace, it’s Mamrie. Let me in.”

“What the hell are you doing here? It’s almost one in the morning, Mames.”

“Just buzz me up, will you? I have wine.”

There’s a long silence, followed by a too-long buzzing noise. Mamrie smiles proudly to herself before making her way up to the seventh floor.

When Grace opens her door, she’s clad in nothing more than an over-sized men’s t-shirt and a pair of running shorts – her hair tied back in what Mamrie thinks might actually be the messiest messy bun she’s ever seen.

“You look like shit, Helbig,” Mamrie laughs and walks past the blonde into her apartment.

“Well I was about to go to sleep before you showed up,” Grace grumbles and follows her friend into her living room, “What’s this about?”

“What, can’t a girl just abruptly show up on her best friend’s doorstep for an impromptu hang?” Mamrie feigns hurt and brings a hand to her heart.

“Mamrie…” Grace warns as she drops herself down to her couch beside the redhead that has already made herself comfortable.

“Fine, fine. I want to talk about our little friend, Hannah,” Mamrie confesses, pulling the cork out of her wine bottle with ease.

Grace raises her eyebrows, “What about her?”

“She’s been kind of out of it lately, don’t you think?”

Grace shrugs, “I haven’t noticed anything unusual.”

“You haven’t?” Mamrie asks and when Grace shakes her head in response, she continues, “Maybe it’s just me, then, but I’ve noticed something weird about her lately. It’s almost like she’s… well, for lack of a better way to phrase it, in denial about her sexuality again.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well for starters, she turned down an extremely attractive woman a few nights back by making the argument that she was normal now. And today? She was wearing a skirt, Grace. She had her hair pulled back and lip gloss on, too.”

“A skirt?” Grace gasps and brings a hand to her chest, “Well have you alerted the local authorities? We can’t have Hannah running around the streets of New York in a skirt, Mamrie. Think of the children.”

“Shut up,” Mamrie narrows her eyes but still has a hint of laughter in her tone, “You know what I mean though, don’t you? It’s just… her behavior is out of character. I thought she was past all of this.”

“That’s the thing about skirts – they always make a comeback.”

“You seem surprisingly unconcerned about our little gay friend, Grace.”

Grace rolls her eyes, “She’s fine, okay? I know Hannah and whatever she’s going through isn’t as extreme as you’re making it out to be. She’s doing fine.”

When Grace reaches forward to grab a couple of glasses off of her living room table, Mamrie watches her with focused eyes – trying to figure out why it is that both of her friends are behaving completely out of the ordinary. She had expected Grace to show at least a bit of concern for Hannah or, at most, agree that a fucking skirt was a weird outfit choice. Instead, all Mamrie gets is rushed jokes and indifference.

And then it hits her. The realization floods through Mamrie so quickly she wonders why she didn’t think of it earlier.

“Grace?” Mamrie questions and when Grace smiles and meets her gaze, she continues, “When we started hanging out with Hannah, did Hannah stop calling Eris?”

Grace tenses up for a second, but quickly relaxes herself back into the couch, “Of course. You saw how red she was when she realized I was the friend you wanted to introduce her to. Do you really think she’d have it in her to keep calling?”

The answer doesn’t please Mamrie, so she presses further, “And what about now?”

“What do you mean?” Grace focuses on the wine bottle between her hands, refusing to meet the redhead’s gaze.

“I mean, it’s been a while since you and Hannah first met… has she called Eris since then?”

Grace stays silent for a few moments before exhaling deeply. It’s all the response that Mamrie needs.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Mamrie shakes her head, “For how long now?”

“Mames, it’s not a big –”

“For how long, Grace?”

“A few weeks,” Grace admits, giving up on pouring wine for the two of them and setting the glasses back on the table, “It’s a good thing, Mamrie.”

“A good thing?” Mamrie scoffs, running a hand through her hair, “Since when is sleeping with a friend with no strings attached a good thing, Grace? Please, enlighten me on how you’re the saint in this situation.”

“It’s helping her, okay? Hannah’s not comfortable around women yet, but with Eris she’s perfectly fine. She can be herself without overthinking it or freaking out. She’s coming to terms with her sexuality and I’m helping her do that. I’m not in the wrong, Mamrie.”

“Coming to terms with her sexuality, huh?” Mamrie laughs bitterly, “Grace, a beautiful woman asked her to dance the other night and she acted as if it offended her that she would even make that sort of assumption about her personal preference. She scowled. Do you really think that you’re helping her by fucking her under a different persona? Do you really think that’s all it takes to help a person?”

Grace flinches back as if the words physically hurt her, “You wouldn’t understand, alright? When it’s just Hannah and me… it’s good. She’s happy, Mamrie, I can see it.”

“While she’s handcuffed to your bed with your tits in her face? Yeah, Grace, I bet she’s fucking ecstatic.”

“It’s more than that and you know it,” Grace narrows her eyes before tangling her fingers in her hair in frustration, “Fuck, Mamrie, I don’t know what you want me to say here! I really believe that I’m doing the right thing with Hannah and if you disagree, fine. Whatever. It’s not your place to interfere.”

“Hannah is my friend too, so it is absolutely my place to interfere. I know you think you’re doing this amazing thing here, Grace, but you’re not. The girl needs therapy, not a fucking prostitute.” Grace’s eyes widen at the word – she’d never heard it escape Mamrie’s lips before to describe her career. They’d had a mutual, silent agreement that terms such as escort and call girl were more appropriate – more respectful. Grace tries not to show how much the word hurts her as Mamrie presses on. “And at the end of the day, Hannah’s not coming to terms with how gay she is. She’s coming to terms with how fucking in love with you she is.”

“So what? Why can’t she be doing both? Why can’t she be coming to terms with who she is while simultaneously falling for Eris? Half of my clients fall for her, Mamrie. It’s not a big deal. In fact, that’s sort of the point – to give these people something that they crave. Whether it’s love or sex or attention, that’s what Eris does. That’s the entire purpose of the job.”

“Calm the fuck down, Grace, I didn’t say she was falling for Eris, I said she was falling for you. You’ve always done this thing where you believe that everything that happens to you when you’re working isn’t real – like it happens to this completely separate personality that you’ve created for yourself. Eris. And maybe that works when you’re sleeping with lonely, middle aged men, but that’s not the case here. This is Hannah we’re talking about – she doesn’t know you as one single persona, she knows you as both. She knows Eris and she knows Grace and you and I both know she’s falling in love with both of them.”

A heavy silence falls over the pair as Mamrie stares at Grace expectantly and Grace stares down, studying the lines on her palms.

“That’s not possible.”

“Stop lying to yourself,” Mamrie says softly, “Look, I don’t own you and I don’t own Hannah. You two are free to be your own women and you’re right – I have no say in how you want to spend your spare time. But please, Grace – think about what you’re doing here. Think about the consequences”

“I have thought about it and I’ve already made my decision. I appreciate the concern, Mamrie, but it’s done.”

“Grace…”

“I think you should go. It’s late and I need to be up early tomorrow.”

Mamrie sighs and runs a hand over her face in exasperation, “Fine. Are we still on for this weekend?”

Grace purses her lips and diverts her gaze from Mamrie’s own, “I don’t know.”

Mamrie can feel the tension in Grace’s tone, so she doesn’t bother saying anything else. Instead, she lets Grace’s words be the last they share for the evening and she quietly collects her things, not bothering to say goodbye or part with their usual hug. Grace stays seated on her couch, even after her front door clicks shut and she can hear Mamrie’s footsteps fade into the stairwell.

There’s a part of her that thinks Mamrie is right. Because Mamrie usually is right about these types of things – she has a sense for them. She thinks about how when she first met Hannah, all the younger woman wanted to do was talk about the person she was and the person she wanted to be. She compares that experience to her relationship with Hannah now – no communication other than the things that they can say with their hands. In fact, now Hannah seems almost against speaking of any sort. Whenever Grace parts her lips to say something, Hannah slams her mouth against them to keep her silent.

Maybe that’s what Mamrie was getting at – it’s no longer about helping Hannah, it’s just about sex. Even if that’s true, Grace can’t see why it would necessarily be a bad thing, per se. They’re both adults capable of making their own choices and if Hannah wants this, then it can’t be wrong. If Hannah is making decisions at all about her sexuality, it has to be a good thing.

It has to be.

Grace’s thoughts are silenced when her phone vibrates beside her on the couch. She picks it up and thumbs over a message sent from Hannah.

You asleep?

The part of her mind that agrees with Mamrie tells her to ignore the message, shower, and go to bed. But the other part of her mind – the more dominant, louder part – tells her that this is fun. It tells her that Hannah is doing just fine and Grace is helping her be that way. It’s telling her that, despite her own sexuality, she likes having the smaller woman wrapped up in her arms and laughing even when no jokes are told. It’s telling her that what she has with Hannah, both as Grace and as Eris, is good. 

Grace bites her lip and types out her response.

I’m wide awake.

\--------------------------------------------------------  
Grace doesn’t see Mamrie again until Hannah’s birthday, three weeks later. Winter is creeping through the city and Grace’s lips are chapped from the cold as she heads for Bar None. She’s nervous; this is the first time she’s been around both her friends since Mamrie found out about what is going on between her and Hannah. She doesn’t want Mamrie to bring it up and scare Hannah. Grace thought about what she said, but Hannah asked for her help and Grace would never say no to that. Eris will serve her purpose and Hannah will move on, and the three of them will go back to normal. It’s going to be fine.  
She smiles tentatively at Mamrie and receives a hesitant wave in response. Mamrie gestures upstairs and Grace nods, heading for the smallest of the private rooms. Grace sometimes meets new clients here, when she wants Mamrie’s opinion on whether to take them on, and she wonders if that’s why Mamrie chose it. She hears the door open behind her and takes a breath before turning.  
“Hey,” she says.  
“Hey,” Mamrie echoes.  
“Listen, I’m sorry about…you know.”  
Mamrie nods. “I think we both could have handled it better, but I meant what I said, Grace. If you want to be with Hannah, then be with her, just don’t do it like this.”  
“Mamrie, it’s not like that. I promise you, I would never hurt her.”  
Grace can feel the argument brewing again and from the look on Mamrie’s face, she can too. They silently agree to change the subject.  
“Where is she, anyway?” Mamrie asks. “Let me guess…”  
Grace nods. “Work.”  
“It’s her birthday!” Mamrie protests.  
“I know, she said her present to herself this year is interviewing her team to find herself a deputy. God, I hope it’s not Mark.”  
“Mark?” Mamrie asks.  
“Mark Ashley. Eris sees him twice a month, he’s the one who referred Hannah.”  
Mamrie looks at her for a moment and Grace thinks she’s going to start yelling again, but instead Mamrie creases with laughter.  
“I swear Grace, your job is like something out of Monty Python some days,” she chuckles. Grace laughs along with her, resigning herself to the ridiculousness of it and feeling the strain between them ease.  
“Drink?” Mamrie asks, already heading for the bar.  
Hannah arrives twenty minutes later, still in her business suit. She kicks off her heels and flops into a chair, gratefully accepting the cocktail Mamrie presses into her hand.  
“Fuck me,” she grunts, “That was a long day.”  
“Did you pick a deputy?” Mamrie asks and Hannah nods.  
“Pearl. It was between her and Mark, but he’s got enough on his plate already. I think he’s getting his own team soon anyway, so I’d have needed to replace him eventually. But-“  
“Hannah!” Grace and Mamrie say in unison. She looks at them in surprise.  
“It’s your birthday,” Grace scolds, “no more work talk!”  
Hannah smiles tiredly. “Deal.”

They end up going dancing at a place Mamrie recommends and after half an hour they’re well on their way to being drunk. As their inhibitions loosen, she sees Hannah glance at her occasionally in a way she knows well, and deliberately starts keeping Mamrie between them. If Hannah gets handsy, Mamrie will say something, and God knows Hannah doesn’t need that right now. After a couple more drinks Hannah’s eyes are definitely starting to wander, so when she’s asked to dance by a tall, well-muscled man she accepts, hoping the time apart will snap Hannah out of it.  
Hannah’s face falls as she walks away and she deliberately turns her back to her friends as she dances, but the mirror behind the bar opposite her lets her watch them without their knowledge. She doesn’t agree with Mamrie about Hannah’s relationship with Eris, but she’s starting to think there might be something to what Mamrie said about Hannah’s feelings. Grace sees Mamrie say something to Hannah and pat her arm sympathetically. Hannah nods, and keeps watching Grace. There’s no anger or jealousy in her eyes, just sadness and love and resignation, and suddenly Grace wants to be anywhere but on the dancefloor with this stranger. The guy’s hands slide down towards her ass and she steps back abruptly, glad for any reason to end Hannah’s suffering.  
“Excuse me,” she says coldly, and walks back to her friends.  
Hannah smiles at her at she approaches and she can’t help but smile back.

They stay out until almost two, laughing and dancing and chatting to a few random people. Eventually they head out and stagger into a cab where the cabbie sternly instructs them not to puke in his car and they agree with mock solemnity. Mamrie’s place is closest and they drop her off quickly before giving the driver directions to Hannah’s place. Hannah leans affectionately against her and murmurs something Grace doesn’t catch.  
“What?” She asks.  
“Stay tonight,” Hannah says in a near-whisper, before looking up at her with wide, hopeful eyes. Grace’s heart thumps in her chest.  
“Okay,” she says softly.  
They take the elevator ride together in silence and when they enter Hannah’s apartment, Grace heads for the kitchen and gets them both a glass of water, hoping to stave off the worst of tomorrow’s hangover. She hands one to Hannah and they sit together for a moment sipping at their glasses, until Hannah looks at her and swallows hard before she speaks.  
“My, uh, my credit card bill came a couple of days ago,” she says nervously.  
“Okay?” Grace responds cautiously. Hannah’s tone has her on edge, but she’s not sure why.  
“There weren’t any charges to Bellona Enterprises on it,” Hannah continues. Grace suppresses the urge to swear. She’s too drunk to have this conversation.  
“Yeah,” she mumbles. Hannah starts to speak again, but inspiration strikes and Grace uses Hannah’s own tactic against her. She pulls Hannah into a kiss, long and slow and deep and all but guaranteed to make her forget about asking uncomfortable questions.  
“Wow,” Hannah says as they part, “You’re really good at that.”  
Grace smiles back in reflex.  
“Let’s go to bed.”  
They make their way into the bedroom, tugging at one another’s clothes and Grace laughs carelessly as she trips over Hannah’s pants, sending them both tumbling onto the soft sheets. They kiss again, a little messily, as Hannah strips Grace of the last of her clothing and runs her hands down Grace’s back with a possessiveness that makes her shiver. Grace rolls them over so that Hannah in top of her, feeling like somehow she owes Hannah this moment of control. Hannah kisses her collarbone, her throat, the soft skin under her ear and Grace whimpers softly. Hannah pauses for a moment and nips at her her throat, drawing another helpless sound from her, and Hannah’s breath leaves her in a low grunt. Her hands become rougher and more insistent, claiming rather than asking permission, and Grace’s legs fall open as Hannah’s thigh pushes between them. Grace feels Hannah’s left hand close tightly around her wrist as the other snakes down Grace’s body and thrusts into her. It’s rougher than Hannah has ever been with her, but between her arousal and the alcohol in her system it doesn’t hurt at all. She finds herself surrendering to this need Hannah has to be in control tonight, letting herself be held down and obeying the occasional guttural command Hannah gives. She feels herself getting closer and Hannah must sense it too, because she releases Grace’s wrist and grips her chin, forcing Grace to look at her. Her expression is serious, focused and resolute.  
“Not till I say. Understand?”  
Somehow, Grace knows that this is important, that failing to obey will be catastrophic. She nods and desperately tries to regain control of her body, but Hannah seems determined to test her self restraint. Just when she thinks she can’t hold out any longer, that her body will fail her under Hannah’s onslaught, she hears a command whispered raggedly into her ear.  
“Now.”   
Grace grabs onto her as she comes, back arching and hips rolling against her. She looks up at Hannah as she collapses against the mattress, and something in her eyes makes Grace brave, or stupid, or both.  
“Hannah, are you in love with me?” She asks.   
Hannah’s breath goes out of her sharply and the strange expression she’s been wearing disappears as a look of sheer panic crosses her features.  
Her momentary insanity over, Grace suddenly realises that any answer Hannah gives, no matter what it is, will wreck them. The lines between their friendship and this has become blurred over the last couple of months, but this is a step too far. As Hannah opens her mouth to respond, Grace shakes her head sharply.  
“Don’t,” she says, “I shouldn’t have asked.”  
Hannah frowns and Grace can’t take the chance that she’ll press the issue, so she rolls them over and kisses her way down Hannah’s body, all too aware of the tenseness she can feel under her. It takes a few long moments for Hannah to relax into her touch, and Grace uses everything she’s ever learned about her friend’s body to bring her to orgasm again and again, hoping the combination of alcohol and pleasure will wipe her idiotic question from Hannah’s mind. Eventually Hannah weakly pushes her away, overwhelmed, and Grace kisses her tenderly.   
“Go to sleep,” she whispers, and Hannah gives her a tired smile in agreement.  
As Hannah snores gently beside her, Grace thinks for a long time, feeling Hannah’s warm, solid weight against her.   
Mamrie was right. That much is clear. Hannah is heads over heels in love with her. She just has to figure out what to do about that.  
Grace has always considered herself heterosexual, but she’s never once faked her enjoyment of Hannah’s attentions. God knows she loves Hannah deeply, just like she does Mamrie, and the more she thinks about it, the more she likes the idea of just being with Hannah as herself.  
Either way, Eris has to go. If Grace wants to be with Hannah, it has to be as herself, and if she doesn’t, then letting Hannah keep using Eris to be close to her is cruel.  
By the time the sun comes up she’s still wrestling with herself. Hannah stirs slightly and throws an arm over Grace’s waist, and Grace knows she should wake her, should explain that this is the last time they’ll do this, should put an end to this unhealthy attachment they have and start building a real relationship; but she also knows Hannah will not react well, and she wants this last peaceful moment between them, so she turns her head, kisses Hannah’s forehead gently and closes her eyes against the harsh morning light.

 

Grace considers herself to be good at a lot of things – making people happy, staying on top of her schedule, and laughing at jokes even when they’re not that funny. Though, to be fair, that technically falls under the category of “making people happy.” But despite these talents, there’s one thing that Grace is terrible at – confrontation.

“You okay?” Hannah asks after several minutes of silence on Grace’s part. She’d been watching the woman slowly push around her salad – rearranging it to the point where it looks entirely different than when their waiter placed it in front of her.

Grace nods and bites her lip. She’s sure that Hannah is well aware of the fact that she has something big she needs to get off her chest. Why else would she abruptly invite the other woman out to lunch on a Wednesday afternoon and stay silent for most of it?

“Look, I don’t know what this is about, but whatever it is… just tell me, Grace.”

Hannah reaches over and places her hand atop Grace’s own and Grace mentally curses when she feels goose bumps rise on her arms. When she looks up, Hannah’s staring at her with complete attention and sincerity – clear blue eyes burning into her own.

“The other night…” Grace finally speaks up, pausing to clear her throat and collect her thoughts, “The other night I asked you if you were in love with me. Do you remember that?”

Hannah’s face falls just a bit into an expression that Grace can’t quite read. Her hand slips off of Grace’s own and she places it in her lap, posture correcting itself near immediately.

“Yeah. I remember.”

“When you didn’t say anything in response, I… I took that as a yes. Was I wrong to make that assumption?”

The shorter woman furrows her brow and looks away from Grace’s gaze, instead focusing on the plain, white cloth covering their table.

Grace waits a full ten seconds before pressing further, “I need you to talk to me, Hannah.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“That’s my answer to the question you asked the other night. Yes.”

Grace nods, “Okay.”

She knows what she needs to say next. She knows the words Hannah, we can’t do this anymore should spill off her tongue near instantly, but Grace can’t bring herself to do it. And she doesn’t quite understand why she can’t bring herself to tell Hannah that their deal is off the table, but all she knows is that the thought of it twists her stomach in knots.

“What if I asked you the same question?”

Grace snaps out of her thoughts and looks up, blue eyes meeting brown ones once more.

“What?”

“What if I asked you the same question you asked me that night. If I asked you if you felt the same way about… about me.”

The caution in Hannah’s voice is evident and Grace can’t tell which answer she’d be more terrified of – yes or no.

Grace’s immediate instinct is to blurt out I’m not sure, but she refrains. That’s probably the last thing Hannah needs right now – indecision and loose promises. Even more than that, Grace isn’t sure why she would even come up with the response. She doesn’t love Hannah in the way that she loves her; she knows that would be impossible. Her attraction to the other woman is purely sexual and nothing more, just as it’s always been.

But when Grace glances up for a brief moment and catches Hannah’s waiting gaze, her chest contracts and she can’t deny that she feels the urge to lean forward.

I’m not sure seems more and more like an appropriate answer.

Instead of going with what feels right, Grace says what she knows is right. What she knows Mamrie would want her to do and what Hannah needs more than anything else.

“I don’t think we should do this anymore.”

Hannah’s eyes widen, “Eat lunch?”

“No, I mean… I don’t think you should see Eris anymore.”

She mentally kicks herself for her phrasing – as if Hannah’s the only one that’s played a part in their unspoken agreement.

“Why? I thought things were going well.”

“They were… they are… it’s just that – God, Hannah, you’re my friend. You’re one of my best friends and this whole “sex on the side” thing isn’t working out.”

Hannah chews on the inside of her cheek in an effort to keep herself composed. She fails, of course, and asks the first thing that comes to her head.

“Would you be doing this right now if I hadn’t said I was in love with you?”

The question takes Grace by surprise – it’s the first time, other than vague nods and forced agreement, that she’s heard Hannah say those two small words to describe her feelings towards her. In love.

It makes Grace’s stomach twist.

“Feelings make everything difficult,” Grace responds, “It’s already so confusing, Hannah. Sometimes I feel like it’s Hannah and Eris and sometimes it feels like it’s Hannah and Grace and sometimes I can’t even figure out what’s happening. I need some time to figure all of that out. And… I think you need some time for yourself, too.”

“Alright,” Hannah says and despite what Grace would think, the shorter woman smiles, “Completely understandable.”

“Shouldn’t we talk about this a little –”

“Love to, but I really have to get going,” Hannah says and immediately picks her purse up from the floor, rummaging through it before throwing a few 20s onto the table, “Lunch is on me, okay?”

“Hannah, you don’t –”

“Do you want me to call you a cab?”

Grace purses her lips in irritation at the other woman’s constant interruptions. She shakes her head, “No. No, I’m fine.”

“Alright. I’ll see you soon, then.”

Hannah rushes out of the small café without another word, not even bothering to slip her coat on before exiting into the biting cold of New York in December.

Grace pokes at her barely-eaten salad and wonders how differently the afternoon would have went if she had told Hannah what she really wanted to say. If instead of responding to Hannah’s question of her affections by ending their relationship entirely, she had said: I’m not sure.

Meanwhile, when Hannah leaves the café, she doesn’t request her personal driver take her back to work like she should. Rather, she asks to be taken home as quickly as possible. Her driver raises his eyebrows in question, but complies nonetheless.

“I’m not feeling well is all,” Hannah says distantly to her driver, staring out her window as cars slowly move past her in dense Brooklyn traffic.

“Want me to stop to pick up some medicine or something?” Her driver responds, nothing but the utmost concern in his tone.

“No. Just take me home.”

They get back to Hannah’s apartment in record time and Hannah barely gives a half-wave at her driver before she’s rushing into her elevator.

She waits until she’s safely in her apartment, with the doors shut behind her, to fall to the ground.

“Fuck!” Hannah screams, her throat stinging as she makes the exclamation through her onslaught of tears. 

The hardwood floor is cold as she slumps against it and her neighbor is playing jazz music way too loudly for two in the afternoon, but all Hannah can focus on is Grace. All she can focus on is the conversation the pair shared minutes earlier.

“You’re so fucking stupid, Hannah. You’re so fucking stupid.”

Hannah repeats this mantra a few more times, all the while wrapping her arms protectively around her upper body.

It was obvious to Hannah what happened at lunch.

Grace found out what Hannah felt for her and she was disgusted. Repulsed. Hannah’s stomach turns when she thinks about how she must have made Grace feel. Maybe, before today, Grace had thought that what they had was fun and lighthearted and that was the extent of it. She was never meant to know just how deeply Hannah’s adoration for her ran. She was never meant to know anything at all. And now that everything’s out in the open, Hannah’s not only destroyed any shot she had at being with Grace, but she’s destroyed their entire friendship. 

“Stupid fucking dyke.” 

The slur spills off of Hannah’s tongue so abruptly she shocks herself. It feels wrong to describe herself so negatively, but it doesn’t make her want to stop. It hurts, but Hannah knows she deserves it. She deserves all of this.

She imagines Grace taking a shower, trying to wash the filth of Hannah’s confession off of herself. Maybe Grace is making the same kinds of negative comments about Hannah that Hannah is making about herself as hot water pours over her body. Hannah almost hopes that her theory is true – she deserves as much for what she did today.

Hannah’s thoughts switch from thinking of what’s running through Grace’s head while she’s showering, to thinking about Grace showering. She remembers one morning, no more than two weeks back, when they had gotten into Hannah’s large, glass shower together. She remembers the curve of Grace’s breast as she lifted her arms to lather her hair. Hannah had latched her lips to Grace’s neck near instantly, not even concerned with the fact that she tasted like bitter shampoo and coconuts.

When she realizes her thoughts have drifted to a bad place, Hannah harshly connects her clenched fist with her forehead.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it.”

Hannah buries her head between her knees and tightens her jaw.

“Why the fuck can’t you just be normal?” 

She’s not sure when she falls asleep, but all she knows is that she wakes up several hours later, face pressed against the hardwood. There’s a moment where Hannah thinks everything is just as perfectly fine as it was this morning, but the pounding pain she has in her skull from where her fist collided with her head reminds her.

When her phone buzzes in her back pocket, Hannah groans and pulls it out, noticing that she’d missed a call. She recognizes the name on her voicemail, however: Ellis. His message is nothing more than a simple:

“Hey Hannah, it’s Ellis. Call me when you have some free time, alright? I’d love to chat.”

Hannah considers getting back to her old boss immediately, but quickly decides against it. She’s afraid that if she were to speak to anyone at the moment, her voice would crack and give herself away. On top of that, she knows that the time difference from New York to Japan would mean she’d be calling Ellis at a fairly late hour. Instead, she waits a couple of days – calling in sick to work on Thursday and Friday and spending her days in bed watching the Discovery channel. 

On Saturday, she manages to call the man back.

“Hello?” 

“Ellis? It’s Hannah.” 

“Hannah! Great to hear from you.” 

“Same,” Hannah says and can’t help but smile at how familiar Ellis’s voice sounds, “How’s Masubi holding up in Tokyo?”

“Oh, the business is doing just fine.”

“And how are you?”

There’s a beat of silence. “Well to be honest, kid, I’m not doing well. Found out a couple of months ago that I’m pretty sick.”

Hannah pulls her knees to her chest, “Oh God, Ellis… what happened?”

“Cancer. Guess that’s what happens when you miss every doctor’s appointment for the past ten years,” Ellis laughs, but his joy soon turns into a long, violent cough.

“How long do you have?”

Ellis collects himself and sighs heavily, “I’ve got a couple of years, don’t worry about me. I’m really calling to talk about you.”

“Me?”

“Look Hannah, I’ve seen how much good you’ve done over at the New York offices lately. Your client list is fucking outstanding.”

“Well, thank you. I’ve put a lot of work in lately.”

“I don’t doubt it – you always were a fantastic worker, Hart,” Ellis exhales and Hannah can tell he’s trying not to erupt into a fit of coughs again, “Point is, I’m not going to be heading the Masubi offices much longer. I’m gonna take some time off and spend my last couple of years at home with my wife and kids, as I should.”

“That’s great, Ellis. You deserve a break.”

“And you deserve to take over.”

Hannah’s eyes widen at the comment, “What?”

“There’s nobody I trust more than you to take over our Japan offices, Hannah. Simple as that. Mike’s been bothering me for the past month to consider him, but he won’t care about the job as much as I know you and I do.”

“Ellis, this is… this is a huge deal.”

“Damn right it is. Look, I know you’re planting your roots in New York right now, but just consider coming back and taking over, will you? It would help me sleep at night knowing that it’s in the back of your mind.”

“I’ll do it.”

Ellis takes a moment to respond, “What?”

“I said I’ll do it. I’ll come back to Japan.”

“You sure you don’t want some time to think this over, Hart?”

“What’s there to think over?” Hannah asks, eyes locked on the window at the opposite side of her apartment, “There’s nothing keeping me in New York.”

It’s true. Mamrie hasn’t spoken to her in a while, Grace is disgusted by her entire existence, and work is the same no matter where she does it. And besides, Japan truly is her favorite place in the world. New York has grown too cold, in every sense of the word. 

“Well okay then,” Ellis says and a laugh escapes him shortly after, “I’ll send over some information in the morning. When do you think the soonest you can come out would be?”

Hannah looks around her apartment. She recalls fucking Grace up against the kitchen counter, lying with their legs intertwined on her couch, and falling to the floor in laughter while they were both clad in nothing more than their underwear.

She needs to get out.

“As soon as possible.”

 

Mamrie spends her last week at work tying up every possible loose end that might ruin her first Christmas at home in four years. Taking over Bar None has been amazing, but she’s looking forward to a break. Finally the 23rd rolls around and she texts Hannah and Grace as she heads for the airport.  
MERRY CHRISTMAS YA LOSERS SEE YOU AFTER NEW YEAR!  
She’s greeted at the airport by a whole throng of relatives and engulfed in hug that doesn’t seem to end until they’re walking out to the car. Back at the house there are even more people, including a few tiny cousins she’s never met, so for almost a week there are games and presents and beer and food and Mamrie ends up with carpet burn from wrestling with the little monsters. As Christmas passes and the New Year approaches, the crowd thins out until finally it’s just her parents and siblings left. They watch the ball drop in Times Square and Mamrie points out where her favourite hot dog stand normally is, the place she met Weird Al and other vital landmarks until her mom hushes her. At midnight they all toast in the New Year and Mamrie promises her family she’ll make it back more often.   
She spends the next two days helping clean the house after the familial invasion and far too soon she’s back at the airport, receiving a much more manageable number of hugs. When she lands in New York she calls Grace and the two of them make plans to meet up the following day. She calls Hannah next, but the call goes to voicemail.

It takes Mamrie a little while to worry, because Hannah often disappears for a while when work gets busy, but she’s never gone almost three weeks without getting in touch. She wants to ask Grace if she’s heard from her, but Hannah is still a touchy subject between them right now. Instead she calls Hannah again and leaves a message  
“Hey buttface, when you get this send me a text so I at least know you’re alive. I thought having an assistant was supposed to make your life easier, not make you disappear off the face of the Earth!!”  
Another two days pass before she calls Grace.  
“Hey, Mames, what’s up?”  
“Hey, listen, have you heard from Hannah?”  
Grace sighs.  
“Mamrie, I don’t want to talk about-“  
“No, Grace, this isn’t about Eris. Have you heard from her lately?”  
There’s a long silence.  
“No.” Grace replies. “She didn’t tell you?”  
“Tell me what?” Mamrie asks, a little afraid of the answer.  
“We kind of had a fight. Or, not a fight. I don’t know. I told her she couldn’t see Eris anymore and the next day she texted me saying she needed some space. I didn’t know she was avoiding you too.”  
“Wow. When did this happen?”  
“Just before Christmas.”  
“Shit.” Mamrie chews on her lip for a moment, thinking hard. She hears Grace clear her throat nervously.  
“Hey, you did the right thing,” Mamrie tells her. “That whole Eris thing was going to end messily, no matter what.”  
“Yeah,” Grace agrees distantly. “Let me know if you hear anything?”  
“Okay.”  
She hangs up and sends Hannah another text.  
Grace told me what happened. I’m coming over after work.  
She doesn’t get a reply. Mamrie tries not to worry, because God knows her tiny namesake needs her processing time, but hiding for nearly a month is just crazy.  
She’s working the early shift, so she’ll be at Hannah’s before midnight. All evening she thinks about what to say, how to get Hannah to pull her head out of her ass without hurting her any more. She’s almost decided on a plan when Pearl walks in.  
“Hey!” Mamrie says. Pearl smiles in response.  
“Hi. Are you free? I want to book the place for a gig next month.”  
“Sure.”  
They head to the office and spend a few minutes sorting out dates and basic details. Mamrie gives her a rough estimate and Pearl smiles.  
“So how’s Hannah doing?” Pearl asks casually.  
Mamrie frowns at her.  
“What do you mean?”  
“With the new job. Is she loving it?”  
“What new job?”  
Pearl stares at her and speaks slowly, clearly disturbed by Mamrie’s confusion. “Her old boss called and gave her his job. She’s VP of the whole Tokyo branch now.”  
“What?” Mamrie whispers.  
“Mamrie,” Pearl says, “Hannah promoted Mark and moved to Japan a month ago. She didn’t tell you?”  
“I…I have to go.” Mamrie says.

She takes a cab to Hannah’s building and when she gets to the foyer she automatically reaches for the buzzer, but her fingers stop a few inches short.  
Next to the button, where the name H. Hart used to be, is a new name: S. Wick.  
Mamrie runs a hand across her face as a lump starts to build in her throat. She breathes deeply for a few moments until she’s sure she won’t crack, then grabs her phone and calls Grace.  
“Hey Mames, I can’t really talk, I’m on my way to a job,” Grace says hurriedly.  
“Overnight?” Mamrie asks shortly.  
“No, just a few hours.”  
“Come by my place afterwards.” She instructs, and hangs up.  
She wants to get drunk. She really wants to get drunk and scream at Grace the second she walks through the door, but instead she pours herself a coffee, since there’s no chance she’s going to sleep tonight anyway, and watches mindless TV to distract herself.  
Some time after 3 am, she hears the pattern of Grace’s distinctive knock at the door. Anger flares hot and bright in her chest as she strides across the room and she pulls the door open, ready to give Grace a piece of her mind.  
Grace is crying. Her makeup is smeared where she’s been rubbing at her eyes and her shoulders are trembling with every rough, shaky breath she draws. She looks at Mamrie, brown eyes shimmering with pain, and before Mamrie can say anything, she speaks.  
“Hannah’s gone,” she sobs.  
The fight goes out of Mamrie in an instant. She stands aside mutely and gestures for Grace to come in.   
A few minutes pass as Mamrie gives Grace time to pull herself together. She makes them both a cup of tea and swears under her breath when she remembers it was Hannah who got her into tea in the first place.  
She walks into the living room and hands Grace her mug.   
“What happened?” She asks.  
“My client tonight was Mark Ashley. He works with Hannah.”  
“I know,” Mamrie nods.  
“He wanted me as arm candy for some business event and when we got there, everyone was congratulating him on being promoted. He told me...fuck, Mamrie, he told me he got Hannah’s job when she went back to Japan.”  
Mamrie nods again. Grace stares at her, obviously expecting more of a reaction.  
“You knew?!” She demands.  
“No, Pearl told me today. It’s why I called you earlier.” Mamrie hesitates, but she has to know. “What did you do, Grace?”  
Grace’s expression crumples and her fists clench as she fights off fresh tears.  
“You were right,” she says with a wavering voice, “I asked Hannah if she loves me and she said yes.”  
Mamrie closes her eyes for a moment.  
“Is that why you said she had to stop seeing Eris?” She asks finally.  
Grace hesitates and Mamrie looks at her, wondering exactly how much worse things could be.  
“She asked me if I loved her back.” Grace says quietly.  
Mamrie takes a deep breath. “You said no, right?” She asks, pretty sure she knows the answer.  
“I…” Grace trails off.  
“Grace,” Mamrie says severely, “tell me exactly what happened. I mean exactly.”  
It only takes a minute or so for Grace to recount her conversation with Hannah, but by the end Mamrie’s head in in her hands.  
“You didn’t say anything? Just told her it was over? Jesus Grace, what the fuck were you thinking? Why didn’t you just say no?!” She’s almost yelling now and Grace stands as she responds.  
“Because I don’t know, Mamrie! I don’t know what I feel! She’s my best friend and we’ve been sleeping together and she’s the first person in a long time who’s loved me and not fucking Eris and I don’t know if I love her back or not. I didn’t want to hurt her, I didn’t want to lie to her, I thought if we took some time apart I could figure it out and then either she could get over me or I could ask her out like a fucking NORMAL PERSON!” Grace screams the last few words and her nails visibly dig into her palms. “I didn’t think she would move halfway round the world to get away from me,” she says more quietly.  
They’re both breathing hard by now and Mamrie shakes her head.  
“I told you,” she says, quiet but intense, “I told you she was getting all messed up again.”  
“I know,” Grace says, “that’s why I put a stop to it. Eris was hurting her.”  
“You were hurting her,” Mamrie corrects harshly. Grace recoils from her words, slumping back onto the couch, head bowed. A heavy silence fills the room.  
“Mamrie,” Grace finally says, “what do we do now?”  
Mamrie laughs bitterly.  
“I have no idea.”

 

Mamrie used to hate Monday shifts. She hated how she had to come in early and watch as irregular patrons filtered in one by one, each looking progressively more broken than the last. Mamrie figures you have to be pretty torn up about something to stumble your way into an expensive bar on a Monday evening. She found that more often than not, the sadness would rub off on her, too.

But now? Well, now Mondays are Mamrie’s favorite day of the week. She likes the silence – likes not having to chat up overly cheery customers and run from one end of the bar to the other when things get too hectic. When things are slow, Mamrie can watch the hours pass by on her phone and wait for her cue to pack up her things and head home. She’s come to prefer spending her workdays this way.

On this particular Monday, there are only two people sipping away at drinks in the VIP room of Bar None – Rick, per usual, and a woman with short, red hair that Mamrie’s never seen before. If things were different, she would approach the woman and ask her how she was doing – maybe hold a conversation for five or ten minutes before returning to the bar and fixing the woman up with a special drink. But things aren’t different, so Mamrie simply sits behind the bar and taps her fingers in time with the ridiculous pop song that’s playing in the background. 

A thought hits her abruptly - she wishes that Grace were here. After Hannah had left, a week had gone by where Grace refused to take Mamrie’s calls or buzz her in when she showed up at her apartment complex. Mamrie stopped trying, of course, and figured that the blonde just needed space. The only problem was that it wasn’t space that Grace needed, but an escape. Exactly a month after the day Hannah disappeared from their lives, Mamrie awoke to a simple voicemail:

I’m okay. I had to leave. I’m sorry.

The voice that stuttered out the words unarguably belonged to Grace Helbig. And though Mamrie had tried to get in touch with her to figure out where she was and what she was thinking, Grace never picked up. Not even once.

And, well, it’s taken Mamrie nearly six months to realize that she played a large part in both of her best friends leaving the city. When Grace first left she put all of the blame on Hannah – continuously telling herself that her and Grace were perfectly fine before Hannah came into the picture. Grace casually dated men that would take a bullet for her, she loved her job, and even more than that, she loved Mamrie. And then suddenly, without either of them expecting it, Hannah came along. She infiltrated their personal lives and Grace’s professional life and in the process she took Grace away from Mamrie entirely. 

It’s Hannah’s fault that Grace is gone.

Only that it’s not. After spending months blaming Hannah, Mamrie finally came to the realization that it wasn’t her fault. It hit her on a Tuesday evening a few weeks prior when she was sitting in her apartment, cross-legged and sipping on a cup of tea made from leaves that Hannah had left behind.

Hannah didn’t destroy Grace, Grace didn’t destroy Hannah, and the pair of them didn’t destroy Mamrie.

They destroyed each other.

There wasn’t a scenario that Mamrie played out in her head that didn’t end up right back to where they were now – scattered across the country and hiding out in their respective corners.

But maybe it’s better this way. Maybe Hannah really does need to be back in Japan – Mamrie remembers how fondly she spoke of the place. And maybe Mamrie needed this wake up call to finally pull her life together and get out of the bartending business. And Grace? Well, Mamrie’s not sure where the hell Grace is, but maybe she needed this, too. She imagines the blonde curled up on a couch in a cozy apartment in another city somewhere. In her mind, Grace has a dog laying at her feet and her head is resting against the chest of the type of man Mamrie always imagined her ending up with – tall, funny, and maybe even a little bit scruffy.

Mamrie hopes that Grace and Hannah, wherever they may be, aren’t as miserable as she is.

“Mamrie?”

Mamrie looks up, slightly startled, at the woman standing before her. It takes her a moment to connect the face with a name – it’s been a while since she’d seen the girl with pale skin and dark hair.

“Pearl, hey.”

“Didn’t know if you’d remember me or not… I don’t think we’ve met more than three or four times,” Pearl smiles and pulls out a stool, taking a seat on the opposite side of the bar from the redhead.

“Of course I remember you. What can I get you to drink?”

“What would you suggest?”

Mamrie laughs, “Depends. How bad of a day did you have?”

“The worst.”

“I got just the thing,” Mamrie smiles and then reaches behind the bar, pulling out a shaker and two clear bottles. Pearl tries to crane her neck to read their labels, but Mamrie shields them away.

“So, uh…” Pearl clears her throat nervously as she watches Mamrie put together her drink, “How’ve you been?”

“As good as I can be,” Mamrie shrugs, not bothering to look up, “And you?”

“I’m alright. A couple of weeks after Hannah left our office did this massive hire to pick up the slack and I wound up leading my own team, just like Hannah used to. But the thing is, I can’t seem to stop messing things up… I don’t know how she did it, Mamrie.”

“Hannah was exceptional at her job, that’s for sure. She made it look easy.”

Pearl nods, “I don’t know if I can do it, to be honest. I think everybody’s comparing me to Hannah and I’m not living up to anybody’s expectations. It doesn’t help that Mark took over Hannah’s old team and he’s already doing a thousand times better than me.”

“Screw expectations and screw Mark Ashley,” Mamrie says, pouring a beige-colored liquid into a glass, “Hannah was great at what she did, there’s no denying that. But you’re great, too. I don’t doubt for a second that you can pick up where she left off. Just don’t try to be Hannah, alright? Be yourself.”

Pearl nods and reaches out for the glass Mamrie places on the counter, not bothering to ask what’s in it before she quickly inhales its contents.

“Have you spoken to her?”

Mamrie looks up, “Spoken to who?”

“You know who,” Pearl narrows her eyes in warning and slides her empty cup back over to the redhead.

Mamrie shakes her head, “I haven’t. But what’s the point? I have no idea where she is other than somewhere in Japan and I don’t know how to contact her. Even if I did, what would I say? Hey, it’s Mamrie and I want a fucking explanation as to why you didn’t bother to tell me you were moving to another country?”

“That’s exactly what you could say.”

“No thanks. I have other things to worry about than Hannah Hart.”

“Right… I forgot about Grace,” Pearl says and immediately notices the way Mamrie’s jaw tightens at the mention of her name, “Mark Ashley was a friend of hers apparently and he told me about her disappearing on everybody. I’m sorry, Mamrie… I know how close you two were.”

Mamrie scoffs and bites at her bottom lip, “Thanks, but, uh… Grace and I really weren’t on the best of terms when she left. I would hardly say that we were close.”

Pearl nods, figuring it best not to push the issue further, “Do you know where she went?”

“Not a fucking clue,” Mamrie says and pushes herself away from the bar slightly, “She could still be in the city somewhere or she could be on the other side of the country or in a different country or, fuck, she could even be lying dead in a ditch for all I know. The last I heard from Grace Helbig was a ten second voicemail that said: I’m okay. I had to leave. I’m sorry. That’s the last thing I heard from my best friend of five years. I’m okay. I had to leave. I’m sorry. And that was almost six months ago now. Six fucking months. And you know what the worst thing is?”

“Does it get worse than that?” Pearl asks cautiously.

“If I hadn’t interfered in Grace and Hannah’s lives, then maybe…” Mamrie pauses for a moment as if to consider her words, “Then maybe they’d still be here.”

Pearl stares at Mamrie for a few beats, eyes scanning the redhead’s face as she sees it slowly crumble. When Mamrie braces herself against the bar counter for support, Pearl manages to whisper out a faint, “What are you talking about?”

Mamrie raises her gaze to Pearl’s own and quickly shakes her head, “Nothing, I was just... nevermind. It’s nothing.”

“Okay,” Pearl nods and Mamrie’s grateful that the other woman knows when to shut up. “I should, um… I should probably get going anyway. I have to be up early tomorrow to open up the office.”

Mamrie nods vaguely and bites at her lip, “Hey, Pearl?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you still talk to her? Hannah, I mean. Do you two still talk?”

Pearl sighs and shakes her head, “The New York office doesn’t really communicate with the Tokyo office. And I’m in the same boat as you – I don’t even know her address let alone her phone number.”

“That’s what I thought, but… well, I just figured I’d check,” Mamrie mumbles and tosses Pearl’s empty cup into a sink behind the bar, “I...” She pauses for a moment when her voice threatens to crack, “I miss her.” 

“Me too,” Pearl says softly, eyes cast towards the ground, “Anyway, I should really get going. I’m planning on bringing some clients over here on Friday night, so I guess I’ll see you then?”

Mamrie shakes her head, “It’s my last day.”

Pearl’s eyes widen, “What?”

“I’ve been thinking of finding something else to do with my life for a while now and I figured now would be as good a time as any. After everything that happened with Grace and Hannah, leaving bartending isn’t that big of a change at all.”

“Do you know what you’re going to do next?”

“Not a clue,” Mamrie grins but Pearl doesn’t think the smile reaches her eyes.

“Well how about comedy? I know you’d be great at that.”

“You know, I’m not finding humor in much these days.”

“Even more reason for you to do it,” Pearl says and when Mamrie glances up, she sees nothing but complete concern in the brunette’s eyes, “You know, I have a friend that recently got into the whole YouTube scene… she puts up a weekly video and she doesn’t have much of a following yet, but she’s really enjoying herself. Maybe that’s something you could look into.”

“YouTube?” Mamrie laughs, “What would I even do?”

Pearl shrugs and then a soft smile grows on her face, “You could bartend.”

“Bartend on the Internet? Okay tipsy, maybe I should call you a cab.”

“You could make drinks!” Pearl beams, ignoring Mamrie’s doubt, “Didn’t you do that for Hannah when you two first met here? You made her a special drink or something? People have cooking shows online all the time – I’m sure people would love to see one for mixed drinks!”

“I appreciate the idea, but I’m gonna have to pass. To be honest, I’m probably just going to go back to school – my theater degree isn’t going to get me much further.”

“What do you plan on studying?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe business or something useful like that. Regardless, I know that comedy isn’t in my future anymore.”

“That’s a shame,” Pearl shakes her head, “I guess this is goodbye then.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you around,” Mamrie smiles, “Kick ass at Masubi, alright?”

“I’ll try,” Pearl laughs, slinging her purse over her shoulder and heading for the door.

It’s the last time that Mamrie sees the other woman. Pearl, like everybody else in Mamrie’s life, leaves without a sad goodbye or a tear-filled monologue. Instead she simply walks out, not bothering to turn her head for one final look before the door shuts behind her.

“Mamrie?”

Mamrie glances up and looks at the new bar manager, Ken. At first she hadn’t been too fond of the guy (or perhaps it was that she wasn’t fond of anyone taking over her position), but he had grown on her. Mamrie saw the same passion in Ken’s eyes that she had in her own when she first started out. 

“Why don’t you head home a bit early tonight? It’s your last day, after all.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Things are pretty slow so I can just take over. Go home and get some rest, alright?”

Mamrie smiles, “Alright. Thanks, Ken.”

Ken nods once before slipping back through the door and leaving Mamrie to collect her things. She unties her hair and puts the few dirty cups she has laying around into the sink. Once everything’s stored away, Mamrie runs her palm along the long, mahogany countertop. She remembers when she first started at Bar None – back when her hair was longer and her eyes were brighter. She smiles to herself as she thinks back on her first week on the job when she had flung her body over the counter to press a kiss to the lips of a stranger. “I think this is my new favorite bar.” The man had smiled, hands wrapped around Mamrie’s neck. “I think you’re my new favorite customer.” Mamrie had slurred in response.

It’s not the best memory, but it makes Mamrie’s heart ache.

“You leaving?” A voice calls out – one that Mamrie rarely hears.

“Yeah,” Mamrie responds, coming out from behind the counter, “It’s my last day.”

“Oh,” Rick responds, nodding in understanding, “I’ll miss seeing you around.”

Mamrie smiles, “I’ll miss you too, Rick.”

“Hey, this might be out of the blue, but uh… would you maybe like to get a drink sometime? Not here, I mean, but… at another bar, maybe?”

Mamrie wants to say yes. She wants to throw herself at the man she had watched for over a year now and tell him how beautiful she always thought he was. If she were to do so, she would learn that Rick only stopped by Bar None on weeknights now to see Mamrie – to watch her smile and flirt and tease customers in the effortless way that she does. If she had paid attention at all over the past six months, she would have noticed that Rick stopped crying into bottomless glasses of alcohol and instead his eyes were always on her; always hungry. But as these things go, Mamrie doesn’t say yes to his question despite how much she wants the word to roll off her tongue.

“It’s not a good time for me. But I’ll see you around, Rick.”

Mamrie turns on her heel and heads towards the door.

She doesn’t bother looking back.

 

Grace is running late. She still doesn’t know Los Angeles traffic well and she hasn’t been able to find somewhere permanent to work from yet, so she’s meeting this client at a hotel she’s never been to. Getting set up in LA has been difficult. Money hasn’t been an issue, thank god, but she has no support system here. She’s used to meeting new clients at Bar None and getting Mamrie to judge whether they are safe to work with, but without her Grace has to be much more cautious.  
She tries to push Mamrie from her mind as she fights her way through traffic. She misses her friend bitterly but Mamrie, Bar None, and all of New York have become irrevocably linked in her mind with Hannah.  
Hannah.  
She can’t help it. The memory of the other woman floods over her; the goofy grin and bad jokes, the tender, reverent kisses, the coldness in her eyes the last time they saw each other. When Mark told her that Hannah was gone, when she’d seen the disappointment on Mamrie’s face, she’d tried to make it better. She’d asked Mark for the number of Hannah’s Tokyo office and stumbled her way around the switchboard system until finally she’d reached Hannah’s assistant.  
“Masubi, Hannah Hart’s office,” the man said in heavily accented English.  
“Uh, can I speak to Hannah please?” Grace asked, heart pounding.  
“Who is calling?”  
“Grace Helbig.” She replied.  
“Please hold.”  
She heard a click, followed by another, and Grace could hear the young assistant say something in rapid Japanese. There was a long, long pause, until finally she heard Hannah respond. The language was unfamiliar, but the tone, the cadence, was all Hannah, and Grace’s guts clenched in anticipation as she frantically tried to think of what to say first.  
“Hello?” The assistant said.  
“Yes, I’m here,” Grace replied breathlessly.  
“I’m sorry, Miss Hart is not available.”  
“But-” Grace said, only to be cut off by the sound of a dial tone.  
She’d tried to move on after that, to accept that Hannah wanted nothing to do with her. She told herself over and over that whatever she felt for Hannah was just the confusion between their friendship and the whole Eris thing, but it felt like a lie. Even after driving her friend to the other side of the planet because of her own indecision, Grace still couldn’t fathom her feelings for Hannah. After a few weeks she decided to take a break and on a whim caught a plane to Los Angeles. She spent a few days bumming around and distracting herself with the dazzle of Hollywood, and when the time came to head home she’d made as far as LAX before her feet rooted to the ground and refused to carry her any further.  
She couldn’t go back. It wasn’t that she hated New York, quite the opposite. But New York meant Hannah, and Grace has enough to remind her of how she hurt Hannah already, she doesn’t need to see the ghosts of their time together on every corner.   
She couldn’t face telling Mamrie, so she left a message, cursing her own cowardice the whole time, and started looking for an apartment.  
Los Angeles is lonely and always too hot, but she’s slowly starting to adjust. She fights her way through the three miles of traffic into central LA and gets to the hotel with barely ten minutes to spare. Normally she’d check in early and watch the guy discreetly to see what he’s like, but all she can do is run up to the room, change into her Eris costume, adjust the room a little and walk in to the bar to meet him exactly on time.  
He’s tall, with black hair that’s starting to grey at the temples and a trim, well-muscled physique. She saunters over and lays a gentle hand on his arm.  
“Hi,” she purrs, and he turns. He looks her up and down twice and nods.  
“Good enough. Let’s go.”  
He stands and heads for the elevators. Faint warning bells ring in Grace’s mind, but she decides not to bail just yet. She’s become used to the ego boost of having people look at Eris a certain way, so maybe it’s just his dismissive manner that’s throwing her. She follows him to the elevator and taps the button for their floor. She starts to speak, wanting to judge his reaction to her flirtation, but his phone rings and he holds up a dismissive hand.  
“What?” He snarls into the speaker.  
There’s a moment of silence and then the man starts yelling at his phone, screaming threats at what appears to be his assistant. Grace is already planning how to tell him they won’t be able to work together when something he says catches her attention.  
“Well you tell those fuckers at Masubi that they can take this deal or I will personally fuck them in their eyeballs, you hear me?”  
At the mention of Masubi, Hannah floods into her mind. She recalls a conversation they had once about Mark Ashley, where Grace explained how she tells the difference between a sleazy but generally decent client and a real creep. She pictures the horror on Hannah’s face if she knew Grace was alone with someone like this, and before she can stop herself, she remembers the way Hannah looked at her when they were together. She shakes her head to clear it.  
The elevator dings their arrival and the guy sweeps out ahead of her, angrily hanging up his phone and turning to face her.  
“Which room?” He demands.  
“1307” Grace responds, and follows him to the door.  
Once they’re inside, Grace’s heart starts to pound. This is a bad idea. She knows she should get out, but for some reason she doesn’t move.  
“Get naked,” the man says coldly as he removes his jacket and tie.  
“Don’t you want a show?” Grace asks with a well-practised coy smile.  
He doesn’t even glance at her.  
“Just take your fucking clothes off and get on the bed!”  
She strips quickly, but rather than go to the bed, she walks up to him and gently massages his shoulders.  
“You seem tense, baby. Let me help.”  
His fingers close tight around her wrist. His eyes are cold as he speaks.  
“Do what I tell you. Get on the fucking bed.”  
Every instinct she has is screaming at her, but she lies back against the pillows and strokes a hand down her stomach as he watches her closely.  
“Turn over,” he says, unzipping his pants.  
Shit. He wants to get straight to it and Grace isn’t even close to wet. She’s done this before though, and she tries to think of a fantasy that’ll wake her body up quickly. Instead, her mind presents her with a memory of Hannah gazing up at her from between her legs with a proud smile, asking if she’s ready to come before sucking gently on her clit.  
It works. She feels arousal prickle across her skin at the memory even as the man climbs onto the bed behind her. His large hand wraps around the back of her neck and presses her down into the mattress and as their bodies meet, he leans over her and whispers harshly.  
“Say you’ve been a bad girl.”  
Grace swallows.  
“I’ve been a bad girl,” she whispers.

When he’s done, he opens his wallet and tosses a pile of cash on the nightstand. Grace catches a glimpse of the photo in his wallet; a tall brunette woman and a young boy holding a large French bulldog. She closes her eyes and waits for him to leave, but hears him stop at the door.  
“You were good. You got a card or something?”  
She glances at her wrist, where a bruise is already forming.  
“No.” She replies shortly.  
He smirks. “Don’t matter. I’ll find your number. What was your name again?”  
“Eri- Elena.” Grace lies.  
“I’ll be seeing you again, Elena.”  
He leaves, and Grace gets up to shower. As the hot water pounds against her skin, she takes stock. It’s not the first time a client has bruised her; even Hannah left marks once or twice, but it’s the first time she’s ever had a client who didn’t respect her, who didn’t want Eris but just a convenient hole to fuck. She feels dirty.  
Her first instinct is to call Mamrie, but they haven’t spoken in nearly a year and Grace is aware that calling out of the blue to bitch about her job is pretty much the shittiest thing she could do at this point, so she strips the bed and curls up on the bare mattress.  
Almost three hours pass before she gives up and grabs her phone. It rings twice before it’s picked up and Grace can’t think of a thing to say.  
There’s a long silence before Mamrie speaks.  
“Grace?”  
Grace is surprised to find tears tracking steadily down her face.  
“Hey Mamrie,” she says, trying not to let her voice shake, “I miss you.”  
Mamrie inhales sharply and Grace prepares for the tirade of righteous fury she knows is coming. God knows she deserves it.  
“I miss you too, you asshole,” Mamrie says. “Where the fuck are you?”  
Grace makes a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh.  
“Los Angeles. You?”  
“Visiting my parents.”  
There’s another long pause.  
“I’m pissed at you, Grace,” Mamrie says sternly.  
“Me too,” Grace replies quietly.  
“I miss Hannah.”  
Grace bites her lip, remembering hauntingly blue eyes.  
“Me too.”  
There’s yet another awkward silence. For the first time in her life, Grace doesn’t know what to say to Mamrie.  
“You want to come visit me?” She asks finally.  
“Is there anything to see in LA?” Mamrie replies.  
“Not really. Just assholes and crazy people.”  
“Which are you?” Mamrie asks, a little too sharply for it to be a joke.  
“I don’t know.”   
Mamrie sighs.  
“I’ll think about it, Grace. I’m enrolled at City College right now so I don’t have much time, but I’ll think about it.”   
“You went back to school?” Grace asks, glad for anything to talk about that isn’t Hannah.  
“Yeah, I’m working on a business degree. It’s awful. Listen, text me your new address. I’ll try and visit when I can.” Mamrie’s tone clearly indicates the desire to end the conversation.   
“Okay,” Grace answers. “It really is great to talk to you, Mames. Can I call you again?”  
Asking permission feels weird, but Mamrie’s hesitation feels worse.  
“Sure, Grace, but I’m pretty busy with school right now.”  
Grace’s shoulders slump. “I understand.”  
“I have to go. Text me your address, okay?”  
“Okay.”  
She hangs up and sends the message before tossing her phone aside. As it hits the mattress it vibrates and she snatches it back, hoping against hope for a reply from Mamrie. Instead, it’s from tonight’s client.  
Found the number, see u again friday. might bring a friend so wear something hot  
Grace looks at the message for a long time before responding.  
See you soon, big boy.

 

Hannah curses under her breath as she struggles to tug the silver wedding band off her finger. She’d always hated taking the thing off—it was so typical of Eric to manage to drop almost $6000 on a ring only to buy it one size too small. Though he’d offered to have it resized, Hannah told her husband not to bother, arguing that it was perfect as it was and she wouldn’t feel right if a thing about it were to change. Eric had smiled and Hannah had kept the real reason why she didn’t want her ring resized a secret.

Truth be told, Hannah wanted to feel the tight grip of the ring on her finger at all times—wanted to be reminded constantly that she was married to a man, that she belonged to Eric, and that she was normal.

Sometimes it shocks Hannah just how easily her new life fell into place. As soon as she arrived in Japan, she had rushed to Ellis’ side after an abrupt downward spiral that occurred during her travels. She had spent those first two weeks sleeping on the couch of Ellis’ lavish, Tokyo apartment and helping his wife care for him and keep up with the housework. By the third week, Ellis’ son had flown in from a job he was at in the United States and, just like that, Hannah met her husband.

Above all else, Hannah appreciated how much Eric was like his father. He was a strong, trustworthy man that knew when to shut up and give Hannah her space. After Ellis’ funeral, when both Hannah and Eric were sitting together on his family balcony, Eric had leaned in and pressed his lips to Hannah’s own. Though the taste of cigarettes and vanilla on Eric’s tongue made Hannah want to recoil, she made the abrupt decision to kiss him back. She decided, in the moment, that a life of controlled, subdued happiness was better than a life of dangerous, uncertain bliss. 

Ten months after his father’s passing, Eric dropped to one knee and presented Hannah with a ring—the ring that was one size too small. Tears sprung to Hannah’s eyes and she forced herself to smile to make them seem like tears of joy. When Eric wrapped her in his arms and pressed a kiss to her temple, all she could think of were a few simple words: You’re normal. This is normal. This is right. 

After their wedding, Hannah’s life settled into the predictable routine that she had expected. During the day she goes to work and at night she cooks dinner, waiting for Eric to get home so they can curl up together on their leather sofa and catch up on their favorite TV shows. On Sunday nights, like clockwork, Eric always manages to bring up the topic of children—how, after three years of marriage, he wants nothing more than to raise a child that has his soft, brown curls and Hannah’s pretty blue eyes. And, like clockwork, Hannah always argues that she’s too busy at Masubi to focus on anything other than her career and Eric.

An hour earlier they’d had the same conversation, but this time it was different. This time Eric didn’t let it go.

“Well when will you be ready, Hannah? Tomorrow? Next month? Next year? I need something fucking concrete to hold on to here!” Eric exclaimed, tangling his fingers in his hair and pacing back and forth in front of his wife.

“I don’t know, okay? I’ve been buried in work ever since our Paris office opened up. I don’t know when things will slow down and I don’t want to raise a child if I know I’m going to be too occupied at Masubi to pay it any attention!”

“I can work from home, what about that? My buddy Rio did that for almost two years when his wife had their first child. It wouldn’t even be a problem—I could stay home with our kid and you could continue to work just as you do now.”

“If we do have a child, I want to be there for them, Eric. I can’t just be there at night to read a bedtime story—I need more than that. Even if I did agree to it, I couldn’t be pregnant and flying back and forth between Tokyo and Paris to help out with the new office. It just wouldn’t work.”

“Well then take some time off. I’m sure the company could find someone to temporarily replace you.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t,” Hannah shook her head before dropping it into her hands, “When Ellis asked me to replace him as the head of this office I promised him that I wouldn’t let it fall into the wrong hands. Your dad had a vision for Masubi and he trusted me to see that through. I can’t just take time off from everything we’ve both worked for.”

Eric fell to his knees in front of Hannah and grabbed her palms, squeezing until she raised her gaze to his own, “Babe, my dad loved Masubi—you and I both know how much he put into the business. But you know what? He loved you and me even more. I know he would want us to do whatever makes us happy, even if that means you having to take some time off from work.”

“I…” Hannah could feel her chest contract a bit at the pleading green eyes staring back at her, “I can’t.”

Eric dropped Hannah’s hands and let out a sigh, “Do you even want children, Hannah?”

“Of course I do. You know how much I love kids.” Hannah had made it clear on more than one occasion that when she saw her future, she saw children. Ever since she was a little girl she’d imagined what it would be like to have small, wide-eyed kids call her mom. And it’s not as if she doesn’t see Eric as a suitable father to her children—in fact, she can’t think of man more prepared for the job. Regardless of her own feelings towards Eric (or lack thereof), she knows that he’s one of the few genuinely good men she’s encountered in her lifetime. But still, when she thinks about having a child in the present, two small words pop into her head time and time again: I can’t. 

“Yeah? Well I’m almost forty and you’re nearing your mid-thirties and I don’t want to be an old man when my child graduates high school. I want to be alive to see our baby go to college and get married and—fuck, Hannah, I want to hold my grandchildren someday.” 

A brief moment passed where Hannah wanted to tell the man kneeling at her feet the real reason why she doesn’t want to bring a child into the world. She wanted to tell him that she’s afraid, deathly so, of it turning out just like her. Hannah’s not sure if sadness is genetic, but the idea of passing on the darkness that sits in her stomach to her own flesh and blood sickens her. Even more than that, she’s afraid of her child looking up at her one day and seeing right through the façade she had worked so hard to build—afraid of her baby knowing how unhappy she is and always has been. No child deserves such a cruel fate.

But Hannah didn’t tell Eric any of this, because that’s what she does. She shields the truth and only lets others see the parts of her that are refined. Polished.

“I’m sorry,” Hannah whispered, tears beginning to collect beneath her eyes, “I can’t. Not now.”

Eric’s jaw tightened visibly and he rose to his feet, “Fine.”

The statement didn’t give way for a response, so Hannah simply stayed silent and watched as her husband marched towards their front door and slipped his jacket off of their coat rack. When he began to step into a pair of shoes, Hannah furrowed her brow in confusion.

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t be here right now.”

“Eric, come on, let’s talk about—”

“No,” Eric seethed and when Hannah began to see fire growing in his eyes, she shut up, “I’m done talking, Hannah. I’m done having this discussion every fucking week with no progress. I need the night to myself. I need to think.”

“You can think here. We can think together.”

Eric opened the door and before he slammed it shut behind himself, he managed to respond with: “No offense, Han, but I don’t think I can even stand to look at you right now.”

And that brings Hannah to the present—pulling off her wedding ring and setting it in the small, glass tray by her living room sofa. She had called up an all-too-familiar phone number as soon as her husband stormed out, mumbling five small words before hanging up: “I need to see you.”

It doesn’t take the girl on the other end of the line any more than twenty minutes to show up on Hannah’s front door, knocking several times against the wood to announce her arrival.

“Go to my room. I’ll be there in a second.”

“Don’t I get a hello?” The woman smirks, one of her hands reaching out to grasp Hannah’s wrist.

Hannah snakes her arm out of the blonde’s grip and purses her lips, “Just get on the bed.”

The woman sighs and nods, whispering “don’t keep me waiting” before making her way towards Hannah and Eric’s bedroom.

Hannah paces through her kitchen for a few minutes and tries to talk herself out of what’s about to happen. She doesn’t call Nadine often, but when she does, she always does the same thing—tries to convince herself to tell the girl to go home rather than fuck her senseless on the same bed she shares with her husband. This time, like all others, Hannah fails to think about anything other than how much she wants this—how much she craves the younger girl’s touch.

When she enters her bedroom, Nadine is already sprawled out atop her comforter, clad in nothing more than a red, lace lingerie set.

“I told you not to wear red anymore.”

“I must’ve forgot,” Nadine grins, rolling over onto her stomach and resting her head in her hands, “Besides, I love the way you look at me when I wear this color—you look so hungry.”

“I don’t like it.”

“How come?” Nadine questions and Hannah hates this about the girl—the fact that she can’t just shut up and do what she’s paid to, “Did Grace wear red for you?”

Hannah’s eyes widen, “Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to pretend like I don’t know about her. You’ve yelled out her name one too many times while you’ve been inside me, Hannah,” Nadine says, curling a lock of blonde hair around her finger as she speaks. It had taken Hannah nearly two months to find an escort in Tokyo with the same deep, golden-colored hair as Nadine’s. It was just one of Hannah’s few requirements, but the hardest one to fulfill. “Do I remind you of her?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hannah responds, trying desperately to change the subject. She begins to unbutton her blouse as she watches Nadine roll innocently around her bed.

“Have it your way,” Nadine shrugs and rises to her knees, reaching behind her back and unclasping her bra, “I just want to fuck you.”

“Shut up and lay down,” Hannah commands, her voice a bit harsher than she had intended it to be.

Nadine clenches her jaw before nodding and lowering herself to Hannah’s mattress. She watches intensely as Hannah pulls off her pants and leaves herself wearing nothing more than a white, lace bra and a matching pair of panties. Hannah pulls a hairband off of her wrist and ties her long, brown hair up into a ponytail before making her way over to her bed. Once her palms connect with the mattress, she lowers herself on top of Nadine and stares into the girl’s deep, brown eyes. When Nadine reaches up to brush her fingers atop Hannah’s stomach, she clenches.

“No touching.”

“It’s hard not to touch you.”

“Control yourself.”

Nadine looks away from Hannah and exposes her neck, letting the older woman attack her with her lips and grip harshly at one of her breasts. Nadine groans, softly, and clenches her eyes shut. Usually Hannah’s not this commanding, but when she is, Nadine knows to stay quiet and do as she’s told.

“Say you’ve been a bad girl,” Hannah growls against Nadine’s ear.

“I’ve been a bad girl.”

“Louder.”

“I’ve been a bad girl,” Nadine repeats, meeting Hannah’s eyes once more, “I’ve been so bad, Hannah. So, so bad.”

Hannah lets the words sink in for a moment before exhaling, “Roll over.”

When they’re finished, Nadine falls into a deep sleep, curled on her side and breathing out heavily. Hannah lays awake beside her, torn between waking the girl up and telling her to go home and letting her rest. Usually, she’d settle on the former—afraid of her husband coming home and finding a strange woman in their bed. But tonight she figures that Nadine deserves this. Hannah hadn’t exactly been the gentlest lover. 

She thinks about what Nadine had said earlier—Did Grace wear red for you? As much as she liked the blonde’s company, she couldn’t stand how much she pried into Hannah’s personal life. There was one night, right after she had married Eric, when Nadine kissed Hannah’s shoulder and whispered, I know you’re not in love with him. Hannah wonders if she’s really that obvious. She wonders if all of her co-workers talk about her when she’s not around, too—coming up with theories about how she spends her free time and whether or not she’s attracted to her husband. She wonders if everybody knows all of the secrets she had kept to herself and if they’re just too kind to mention them.

Instead of dwelling on the thought, Hannah rolls onto her side and places a hand lightly on Nadine’s arm.

“Grace didn’t wear red for me, but Eris did,” Hannah whispers, noting that there’s no change in Nadine’s breathing as she speaks, “Almost every time, she wore red. When you wear it you remind me of her, but when you speak you remind me of Grace. That’s why I like it when you’re quiet, because all I can see is Eris.”

“Where’s Grace now?” Nadine whispers in response and Hannah jumps slightly from the sudden question. She immediately feels her body tense at the thought of Nadine hearing her entire speech—listening to every word she had thought she confessed to deaf ears.

“I don’t know,” Hannah manages to stutter out, but as soon as she says the words, she can hear Nadine’s soft snores fill the room.

She exhales in relief, but the question still sits in her head. Her response had been true—she really doesn’t know where Grace is now. But regardless of that, she knows where she wants Grace to be. In her head, whenever she thinks of the blonde, she sees her sitting on the patio of some New York apartment, lounging on a comfortable chair and soaking in the sun. She imagines Mamrie sitting at her side with a Bloody Mary in hand and a fresh sunburn across her cheeks. She imagines the two of them laughing and sharing stories of weekends spent with their significant others—perhaps their children, too.

Hannah knows that this scenario may not be real, but it’s what she holds onto. More than anything else, she imagines that Grace and Mamrie’s lives have stayed exactly the same as they were before Hannah stepped in and tore everything apart.

Hannah shakes the thought from her mind almost as quickly as it arrives. Mamrie and Grace are her past, and there’s no point in dwelling on them now. She decides that tomorrow she’ll throw away Nadine’s business card and tell Eric that she’s ready to have his baby. The mistakes she had made in New York will be forgotten, and her world will keep on turning.

Tomorrow will be her new beginning.

Tomorrow she’ll finally be normal.

The end.


End file.
